


Where We Stood

by rockethop



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Basically A Long-Winded Kennedys AU, Character Death, Eventual Smut, Eventual reunion, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Night Terrors, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Service - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockethop/pseuds/rockethop
Summary: “Leslie,” his hoarse voice croaks. His dark eyes dilate with terror.She reaches out to press her fingers against the red liquid currently flowing freely from his skin in an effort to control the bleeding when she hears a second pop.---Leslie Knope's life is irrevocably changed in September 2018 while speaking at her husband's re-election campaign rally. Haunted by the night in Detroit, she is forced to recount the events leading up to her husband's assassination at the request of the commission tasked with investigating what went wrong - but she just might destroy their legacy in the process.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 70
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to niseag for beta reading for me!! I love you and I like you.
> 
> My fictober drabbles are going to be put on hold for the sake of this story because I'm so excited to write it. I do still intend on finishing the drabbles after finishing this story, however!

SEPTEMBER 2018 - WASHINGTON DC

“Mrs. Wyatt?” The elderly man prompts her. His grave face bears the shadows of a man that sleep has eluded for far too long. He sighs and licks his fingers before promptly rifling through the papers in front of him on the desk. “I’m just trying to help.”

Leslie’s despondent face and somber eyes stare past the old man’s shoulder, landing on the textured wall behind him. In the corner, a grandfather clock chimes darkly eight times signaling the onset of the new evening hour. She motions for the man standing beside her, her hand fumbling along his black hopsack blazer. The man sighs disapprovingly and reaches for his inward pocket to fish out a metal flask for Leslie. She cups it in both of her hands, uncaps it, and presses it to her lips, letting the foul tasting liquid burn the back of her throat as she stares aimlessly.

“Look,” the sitting gentleman finally says. “Mrs. Wyatt, I am truly sorry for your loss. But I can’t investigate your husband’s murder without your testimony. Not comprehensively, at least. Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated.”

Her emotionless face finally breaks, a small yet acrimonious smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “What do you want to know?”

The man to Leslie’s right shifts uncomfortably. If she had any reason left to care, she perhaps could have chosen to interpret his posture change as a vie for her attention. His green eyes seek hers. She ignores him just the same.

“Mr. Director,” the standing man interjects angrily, “with all due respect, is this truly the best time for an interrogation?”

“It is not an interrogation. The Agency just wishes to receive the First Lady’s testimony. One would hope that an agent of your caliber would understand that.”

“At the expense of a grieving widow?!” He roars, his dark brown hair falling in his eyes.

“Stand down,” the director seethes, his teeth clenched ferociously. The accompanying agent deflates, his lips twitching as if considering the repercussions of an insubordinate outburst.

Triumphant, the director redirects his attention to Leslie and clicks his pen in preparation. “Start anywhere you’d like, Mrs. Wyatt.”

\- - -

OCTOBER 2010

“I just don’t think it’s a great idea, Ann.”

“Leslie, please. I’m begging you.” Ann takes Leslie’s coat and hangs it precariously on the nearby coat rack. “If you don’t hit it off then no harm, no foul, but what if he’s  _ the one _ and you never even gave him a chance? You’re going to spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

“But if I never give him a chance, how would I know that he’s  _ the one that got away?”  _ She counters, her eyebrow arching.

She steps over to the mirror hanging above Ann’s entryway table and runs her fingers through her hair, assessing the current state of her complexion before rubbing a stray mark of smudged red lipstick. She isn’t usually one for bold lip colors but Leslie figures that it would serve as a test of her blind date’s confidence. Ann had told her of a politician she knew and if he is anything like her expectations, then Leslie doesn’t have high hopes for the impending conversation. If he balks at the gesture as expected, then at least she’s saving herself some time. She smooths a wrinkle in her skirt.

“Oh, you would know,” Ann scoffs. “He’s just got this… thing about him. It’s like he’s destined for greatness.”

Leslie walks further into the house. “And you said he’s running for Congress?”

“Precisely,” a deep voice answers as Leslie and Ann round the corner. In the midst of the dinner party stands a dark haired man with entirely too much experience with carrying himself in a respectable manner. He might even appear inconsequential, Leslie thinks, in this room full of attractive potential suitors that Ann’s assembled for her if it weren’t for his slicked-back hair and sharp jawline. “Benjamin Wyatt, future United States Senator.”

He extends his hand towards her and Ann takes that as her cue to see herself out, leaving a particularly flustered Leslie to fend for herself. Her body betrays her and she hesitates to accept his touch before she places her flaccid palm in his.

“You think highly of yourself.” She intends for the statement to serve as a rebuke towards the brazenness emanating from him, but she thinks it has the opposite effect judging by the way his face lights up.

“Senate is only the first stop. I’ll do my six years as a senator and then it’s off to the national stage.”

“You really believe that you’ll be elected president as a freshman civil servant?”

He laughs lightly and swirls his gin and tonic in its glass. “Crazier things have happened.”

The conversation lulls and Leslie grows increasingly aware of the fact that her hand still rests within Ben’s. She shifts nervously, scanning her surroundings for Ann to no avail. Her attention is stolen from her efforts when she feels Ben’s thumb rubbing along the back of her hand. She eyes their linked hands, unable to place the emotion currently coursing through her veins. She snaps her eyes upward to look at Ben.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ben glances over his shoulder as if about to indulge her in something meant just for the two of them. “No reason. I just thought of a proposition for you and me, that’s all.”

“And that is?”

“When I win next month, you and I get married.”

Leslie huffs incredulously. Her hand nearly slips out of Ben’s grasp but he adjusts his hold on her and gives her hand a squeeze. The room is too small, too hot, and the people that brush shoulders with her in the crowded house party do nothing to dissipate the knot in her stomach. She curses inwardly. Somehow he manages to have the upper hand in every turn of conversation and she really thought, foolishly, that a bold lip color was going to give her an advantage.

“You don’t believe in superstition?” Leslie asks in an effort to sidestep his suggestion. “You don’t think that by saying ‘when’ instead of ‘if’, you’re not jinxing things?”

“No, I don’t believe in curses.” Ben raises his glass to his lips and sips the cocktail. “It’s just unpleasant circumstances combined with unfortunate timing. You’re changing the topic, though. Next month I win and we get married.”

Leslie’s eyes dart across the room before settling nervously on his. “That’s not a proposition, that’s a proposal.”

He smiles smugly. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Worse marriages have been founded upon more than this.”

Leslie swallows and rocks on her heels. She doesn’t have an adequate rebuttal on account of the underlying truth in his statement.

“Tell me, Miss Knope,” he eyes her over the brim of his glass. “Have you ever been satisfied?”

Leslie exhales sharply in what she hopes was forcible enough to indicate the extent of her disapproval. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, as you approach - what are you, nearing twenty six?”

“Thirty five.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Charming,” Leslie says flatly. A hint of playfulness returns to her tone when he feigns offense. “You’re a liar but you almost make it sound believable.” Ben finishes the contents of his drink and sets the empty glass down on the nearby table.

“No, I mean it. But as you near forty, do you ever stop and ask yourself what you want out of life? Every breath I take, I’m one closer to taking my last. And as the midterm election draws nearer, I can’t help but think about what I want. I am on the brink of political achievements that historians cannot yet imagine and, still, I feel unfulfilled. I want a marriage. I want a family.”

“And you think that asking a woman to marry you in your first interaction with her is the key to a successful relationship?” Leslie questions, her intrigue rising. Every time she thinks she has a sense of who he is, he pulls the floor out from under her.

“I think it’s worth considering.”

Leslie’s quiet for a moment. “So it’s a convenience marriage.”

“Maybe,” he replies, “but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be meaningful and founded upon mutual respect.”

She blinks. “I don’t want to be in a loveless marriage.”

“That’s where you’re in luck,” Ben smiles sweetly. “Because neither do I. Leslie Knope, I am ready to fall head over heels in love with you if you’ll allow me to.”

Leslie sighs and finds herself smiling, finds herself being lured into Ben’s magnetic aura before she realizes what’s happening and she remembers who he is. The romantic in her feels weightless but the pragmatic side of her digs her metaphorical heels in deeper in protest.

“Okay, damn. That was good,” she laughs. “You nearly convinced me that you weren’t kidding about all of that.”

Ben’s eyebrows scrunch in a momentary display of anguish before his face returns to its reserved composure. His unoccupied hand pushes into the front pocket of his pants and retrieves a small box. He thumbs it open and allows Leslie an opportunity to examine the three white diamonds situated along the silver band before shutting it and tossing it into the air. He pushes it back into his pocket.

“So what is it that Leslie Knope most desires from this life?” Ben raises the back of her hand to his lips and he lays a kiss upon her knuckles. He smiles then steps past her, pausing only to call over his shoulder, “Think about it.”

\- - -

A persistent knocking at Leslie’s door wakes her from her sleep on the first Tuesday night of the next month. By no means was ten-thirty considered a late hour on election night, but she grumbles down the stairs nonetheless and flings the door open to a particularly agitated delivery person. Leslie pegs the young woman to be an overworked college student given her disheveled hair and the bags under her eyes. The girl sighs.

“Are you Leslie Knope?”

“Yes,” Leslie answers with a yawn of her own.

“These are for you. Can you sign please?”

She thrusts a clipboard into Leslie’s arms and clicks a pen before handing it to her. Leslie signs, confused about what’s currently happening. She relinquishes the clipboard now bearing her signature and the girl rounds the corner, pulling a cart bearing the weight of hundreds of flowers before retrieving two other identical carts. Roses and lilies in varying shades of white, pink, and red lay before Leslie as she stands astounded on her front porch, the chill of the November air biting her skin through her thin matching pajama set.

“I didn’t realize Harmon’s does deliveries this late,” Leslie whispers before stepping forward to caress the different petals in front of her.

“We don’t,” the delivery girl says snarkily. “But it’s amazing what a fifteen hundred dollar transaction will make your managers do to you. I have class tomorrow morning at eight. I should be at home sleeping right now!”

Leslie doesn’t respond. She’s too transfixed by the myriad of colors surrounding her. She reaches out for the singular card, its already diminutive size appearing smaller in the masses of petals.

_ Thoughts? _

_ With love, _

_ Senator-elect Benjamin Wyatt _

The girl scowls. “Under normal circumstances, I’m supposed to unload the flowers and take the carts back but at this point, just keep them. I’m quitting.”

Leslie watches the girl retreat towards the delivery van and she thumbs the message card. She pulls a pink rose from the arrangement and sniffs it before hugging herself tighter.

\- - -

Leslie shudders, her breath a shaky whisper in a silent room. At some point, a singular stray tear had fallen from her eye without her knowledge. She brushes the trail of water from her face with the palm of her hand.

“Mrs. Wyatt?” The director asks softly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Russell.”

“Preston is acceptable, ma’am.”

Leslie draws in a deep breath, her eyes searching the room for objects to help ground herself. To her dismay, she’s unable to find a fifth green object to complete the exercise. She cycles through the color and number combinations, trying to swap the color sequence to better fulfill the requirements of the procedure a psychiatrist had taught her during Ben’s first three years as senator - one orange object, two yellow objects, three blue objects, four red objects, and five green objects - but only to wind up feeling more frustrated and on edge.

“I’m not trying to waste your time by telling you this, I promise.” Leslie flips the lid of the flask and, after realizing its empty state, closes it once more. “I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t think it was pertinent,” she tears up.

The old man smiles in what Leslie thinks is pity. “I understand. Please continue when you feel able.”

She sighs.

“I think a lot of people think we fell in love that first night. Maybe he did, but I didn’t. He swept me off my feet in a way that just came naturally to him. He knew his effect on people and how to play that to his advantage. It’s why he won. It’s why there are millions of people mourning a man they never truly knew. But he never called after that. He didn’t try to contact me in those twenty five days after we met.”

In her peripheral, the second man twinges ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly so. If it weren’t for the years of experience she had reading the subtle changes in his body behavior, she perhaps might have missed it. He sits with his palms on the dark wood table, situated between Leslie and the director.

“But you married him,” Russell smiles.

“I was so mad at him. I couldn’t believe that I allowed myself to get swept away with his smooth talking and promises of grandeur. But then he won. And he apologized in the way that only he can.”

The agent’s fingers drum on the tabletop.

“Could,” Leslie rectifies with a somber downwards glance.

The grandfather clock chimes once more, ten dark tones ringing out into the dimly lit room. Her Secret Service agent looks at her and then, without a lack of concern, diverts his attention to his watch. From the corner of her eye, Leslie sees him glance repeatedly between the clock and his watch before attempting to sync the two. The fabric of his pants brushes against Leslie’s exposed knee under the table causing her to flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. He gives up on adjusting his watch.

“Mrs. Wyatt,” the director closes his padfolio and secures the clasp. “I’m afraid it’s getting late now. Agent Shepherd,” the director stands from his position at the desk and circles around, shaking the other man’s hand as if to indicate his forgiveness. He continues around the edge of the table, stopping before Leslie but unsure of how to best console her. He decides a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder is most appropriate given the circumstances and excuses himself from the West Wing conference room.

Leslie and the agent sit in silence after the door closes. In the reflection of the powered down TV screen in front of her, she’s able to discern the mirrored news headline playing over her shoulder. The banner reads “PRESIDENT WYATT ASSASSINATED AT 44” in what Leslie sardonically believes to be one of the better headlines she’s seen in the last thirteen harrowing hours on account of its simplicity. The reflection is lost when the agent points a remote at the screen and powers it down. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You have to sleep.”

“I can’t,” she says bitterly.

“You haven’t tried since-”

“I can’t!” she screams, trembling violently in the leather seat. Something harrowing snaps within her and she cringes at the sadistic pleasure that arises within her at the man’s pained expression. Her voice finally emerges and it sounds pathetic even to herself. “I can’t keep reliving it.”

He leans back and loosens his tie. “We can’t keep this up much longer, Leslie. You’re going to burn out soon and I can’t be there for you when that happens if you keep insisting on late nights and early mornings.”

“I never asked you to do this, okay? I never asked you to stay awake with me.”

“It’s my  _ job, Leslie.” _

She shakes her head in disapproval, laughing maniacally until it transitions into wretched sobs that shake her entire body. The agent reties his tie before collecting Leslie in his arms and setting off towards the second floor of the Executive Residence.

\- - -

_ She steps through the throng of men in suits and into the warmth of the spotlight, her husband lovingly extending a hand out towards her while standing beside the podium. He lifts her hand to his lips in his characteristic display of affection towards her, the one that he does at every event they attend together but never in private. _

_ It doesn’t feel right. She shouldn’t be able to hear her heels clicking against the floor, she shouldn’t feel her heart hammering in her chest, she shouldn’t be able to feel herself moving in slow motion. The roar of the crowd is absent, she notes, and she’s able to better appreciate the beauty of her husband as his eyelashes catch in the spotlight. The surroundings of the stage fade into a blackness with no hopes of distinguishing the outlines of the bodies hidden within it. _

_ He smiles, truly smiles, for the first time since the night they shared making love on the floor of the East sitting room nearly two weeks prior. He leans in close to her, angling them away from the microphone lest it catches what he’s so eager to murmur to her. _

_ “You look so fucking beautiful.” _

_ She giggles, slightly losing her balance and crashing into him. His arm slinks around her lower back to steady her before turning to the podium. _

_ “Ladies and gentlemen, the  _ breathtaking  _ Mrs. Leslie Wyatt,” he announces her to seemingly no one. He retreats to the side of her, his face beaming with pride. _

_ The words never leave her mouth. She tries to speak but is unable to produce sound. She thinks she sees movement over Ben’s shoulder far off in the distance, but she puts it out of her mind. _

_ A quiet click as metal snaps into place followed by a sharp crack echoes across the stage, but she continues to search for her ability to speak, to address the thousands of potential voters that he’d asked her to charm by means of attending the campaign rally with him. She glances over her shoulder, seeking one final glance of encouragement, but Ben’s face is contorted in a mixture of pain and disbelief. _

_ His fingers rise to his neck and swipe gently against his skin, trembling as he pulls them away to reveal oxygen-rich blood coating his fingertips. She stands completely paralyzed in the silence, her mouth agape in horror. _

_ “Leslie,” his hoarse voice croaks. His dark eyes dilate with terror. _

_ She reaches out to press her fingers against the red liquid currently flowing freely from his skin in an effort to control the bleeding when she hears a second pop. _

“LESLIE!” A voice shouts from too far a distance.

Her body shakes and her throat burns with a vengeance. She chokes on her own scream, unable to take her eyes off of her staggering husband gasping in pain. A hand slips over her mouth to muffle her cries with another stroking through her hair.

“Leslie,” the voice calls again, softer this time. “Leslie, shh. You’re okay. You’re alright.”

Slowly, her surroundings come into view. She can make out the outline of the lamp on the nightstand in the West bedroom. She blinks furiously but is unable to stem the flowing of tears.

“Sweetheart,” the man says again and places a lingering kiss against the exposed skin of her shoulder. Leslie rolls away from him, disgust overtaking her. “Les?”

She pushes herself into an upright position. “It happened again, Shep.” He gathers her shaking hands in his. She jerks them away. “He’s gone. He’s gone and I can’t bring him back and I should be with him. I want to be with him. I want to fall asleep and be with him forever.”

Shepherd’s face falls. He rubs his hand along her arm, trying to bring her back down from her adrenaline induced high. He wipes her tears.

The best he can offer her is a momentary distraction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the sweet comments on the first chapter! i appreciate you all so much :)

SEPTEMBER 2018

She must have fallen into a state of unconsciousness at some point, Leslie realizes, because she awakens feeling the most rested she’s felt since the trip to Detroit. The bedroom is softly illuminated in the early morning light, still covered in shadows from the indigo sky as the sun begins its ascent from along the horizon. The arm draped over her waist pulls her a tad closer to the body laying behind her and her bedfellow sighs contentedly. She rests her hand on top of his.

“You’re doing it again,” she mumbles.

“Doing what?” Shepherd whispers.

“You’re falling in love with me.” She doesn’t necessarily mean for the words to sound accusatory but she can’t seem to change her tone.

“I’m always falling in love with you.” His thumb trails aimlessly over her stomach, drawing patternless shapes and figures against the smooth fabric of her nightgown like it did hours before when she complained of cramps. “I’ve been falling in love with you ever since we met.”

Leslie stares at the silhouette of the trees swaying gently in the breeze outside the window. Their motion provides her with a fleeting sense of comfort until it’s replaced by jealousy. She’s envious of the trees’ sense of tranquility - envious of their inability to feel anything. She wonders what it’s like to not suffer at the cruel hands of fate.

“I can’t say it back,” she murmurs. “Not right now at least.”

“I know.” His hands stop their wandering. “It’s okay.”

“No,” she retorts softly. “It’s not, Shep. You deserve someone that can love you openly and freely. Someone who can be with you and tell you how they feel without feeling guilty all the time.”

“And if I don’t want that?”

Leslie’s body tenses. “Then I guess things stay the same.” Despite herself, she relaxes into his muscled chest and closes her eyes. She feels the roughness of his cheek brush against her neck as his soft lips press against her skin.

“How’d you sleep?” Shepherd asks quietly after resting his head against hers.

“Fine,” Leslie responds, and she supposes it must be partially true. She hadn’t woken up screaming, after all.

“Did you dream of him?”

The vision of Ben’s smiling face returns to her and though she can’t clearly make out their surroundings, she’s flooded with the sensation of the two of them being overwhelmingly in love. He appears youthful in this context, less stressed and with far fewer streaks of grey in his hair than she is accustomed to. She figures this particular haunting occurs before every damaging incident in their marriage has had the opportunity to unfold - but when she looks down at herself, she still bears the evidence of bearing two children and a distressing scar on the underside of her right arm. He doesn’t seem to notice, however, and they sway and twirl in time to a song that Leslie doesn’t recognize. She’s struck by the thought that they fit well together, that her delicate palms are a nice contrast to the calluses of his hands, that she doesn’t mind having to stand on her toes to meet his lips halfway. 

Leslie considers divulging her most recent encounter with Ben but she can’t bring herself to hurt Shepherd further. She decides that lying is a preferable alternative. “No.”

“You were crying in your sleep,” Shep refutes. He takes her hand in his. “You’re allowed to mourn him, you know. You don’t have to be so stoic all the time.”

“I am mourning. Did you ever think that maybe I’m just better at handling grief than everyone else?” She feels his chest heave with a silent laugh before he grows serious again.

“I don’t think there’s a wrong way to grieve,” Shepherd admits. “But you’re not letting yourself feel anything. You keep trying to push it aside and run from it all.”

She falls silent, choosing to simmer in her fury rather than risk starting an argument. Unwisely, she mutters, “You have no idea how I feel or the hell that I’m going through.”

“I know exactly what you feel,” he says patiently. “You’re in love with him, Leslie. Everyone knows it. We can all see it.”

“Then why do you do this to yourself?” She snaps unexpectedly and reprimands herself for losing control of her composure. Her voice lowers to a collected whisper that surprises even herself. “Why do you settle for this? Why do you keep letting me hurt you?”

“Because being your second choice is better than being anyone else’s first.”

Leslie rolls in his embrace to face him. Her fingers push against his chest as she attempts to put distance between their bodies. “You can’t say stuff like that, Samuel.”

He shakes his head, defeated. Her joyless eyes fixate on his bare chest, unable and unwilling to hold a conversation - something that she knows is inevitable if she dares to make eye contact. 

“It’s still early. You could try to sleep again if you want.”

 _So the tactic backfires_ , she gripes inwardly. Leslie shakes her head. He asks too much of her.

“Do you want anything?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“When’s the last time that you ate something?”

“I don’t remember.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes as if to massage away his growing frustration with her obstinance. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she bites back. Leslie crosses her arms over her chest, completely aware that she’s acting like a petulant child - but she thinks that given the circumstances she should be granted permission to do so if she pleases. 

“Leslie,” Shepherd protests but she interrupts him with a wince as her stomach twists and turns. “The cramps are back, aren’t they?”

“I want some ibuprofen,” she barks in lieu of answering his question.

“Where is it?” Leslie doesn’t say anything, just clutches her stomach tighter. Her face whitens and her eyes plead with him, and that’s when he realizes that the pills reside in her bedside drawer within the master bedroom across the hall - an area of the house that she’s been unable to approach since returning to Washington. “Okay. I have to get dressed.”

She nods gratefully and watches as he slips from between the sheets to pull his pants over his briefs, studying how his fingers flex and curl as he pushes his belt through each loop. He pulls the white dress shirt around his shoulders and buttons each hole with care.

“I’m not bringing them here,” Shepherd decides. “If you want the pills you’ll have to make an appearance at breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she insists through clenched teeth.

Shepherd turns to the vanity mirror and runs his fingers through his hair before securing his tie and folding his collar down on top of it. He grabs his blazer from the chair near the window then reconsiders and tosses it back down, choosing to pull his shoes on instead. With his shoes tied, he approaches her, hands on hips as his patience wanes.

“I’m just thinking that in five minutes there is going to be a very confused little boy sitting down for breakfast with his baby sister wondering why Daddy’s never coming home again. I think seeing their mother would be a comfort to them.” He holds her robe out for her, waiting for her to crawl out of bed and shrug it on before he sets off in pursuit of the pain relievers.

Her bare toes curl into the carpet beneath her and she stands alone in the middle of the room, hugging her robe to her body. She closes her eyes and attempts to focus on her breathing but the stabbing pain in her stomach and the liquid pooling between her legs demands her attention. She trudges into the adjoining bathroom feeling sorry for herself as tears threaten to spill from her eyes as she changes the cotton pad in her underwear before discarding the bloodied product into the trash.

She sobs silently, staring at the unrecognizable face in the mirror. The reflection has her blonde hair and blue eyes, but it doesn’t look like her, at least not in her opinion. The face in the mirror has darker circles than hers does and she doesn’t remember her complexion ever looking so pale, but she knows it belongs to her when the reflection cries along with her as she thinks about what she’s lost.

Her nails press into her palms as she clenches her fists but she doesn’t mind the pain. The physical pain is preferable compared to the psychological warfare occurring behind her eyes and the heartache deep within her chest. Her nails burst through her skin, drawing blood from the lacerations and drawing her back to reality. She runs her hands under the faucet and winces before drying her tears and taking a steadying breath.

Two pills await Leslie on the dining room table when she finally meanders downstairs.

“Really? That’s it?” She sneers. “That’s like four hundred miligrams, tops. That’s offensive.”

Shepherd only shrugs, either unwilling or unable to rebuke her in front of other people. When it becomes clear that he doesn’t have any further drugs to provide her, Leslie scoffs and grabs them from the table, popping the pills into her mouth and chasing them with a gulp of hot coffee.

“What, you think I’m going to try to overdose or something?” Leslie pulls the chair across from Shepherd out and collapses into it before grabbing a handful of raspberries and pushing some into her mouth. She chews, watching him over the rim of the mug she raises to her lips.

“It was a consideration,” he hisses through tight lips but softens at the sight of her eating. He’d figured that her earlier denial would catch up to her sooner rather than later, but he knew firsthand how strong willed she could be when she put her mind to it, and he wouldn’t put it past Leslie to starve herself to get her point across to a national audience.

She rests her bare feet on his knees under the table and motions for a plate with slices of bread to his right. She takes a hesitant bite from it as if to test how strong her stomach is before dropping it to her plate and pushing it aside.

“That was hardly-”

“I’m just here for my kids, okay?” She sighs. “Your little guilt trip earlier worked.”

A woman enters the dining room holding a fussy toddler before Shep has time to object and Leslie rises to take her one year old daughter in her arms. She smiles graciously towards the young governess, hugging her baby tighter and running her fingers through the little girl’s dark blonde hair. _A genetic marvel,_ Leslie thinks affectionately, though she reckons that it isn’t entirely implausible. If her memory serves her correctly, her own mother’s natural shade had been similar before she resorted to dyeing it lighter.

“She’s grumpy, Mrs. Wyatt. I don’t think she slept well,” the woman laments.

“That’s okay, Charlotte. Thank you.” Leslie rests her cheek atop the wisps of curls framing her child’s forehead. The woman nods and steps out of the dining room, presumably to retrieve Leslie and Ben’s six year old son. “Good morning, miss Sasha. Are you grouchy today?”

Leslie wiggles one of Sasha’s tiny toes. She jerks her foot away and buries her head in the crook of her mother’s neck, shaking her head no with a scowl. Leslie smirks kindly and spins on her heels, twirling with Sasha in her arms to a song that isn’t playing. She traipses and flounces barefoot around the large yet intimate table in a fashion similar to what she’s seen her husband do countless times with their irritable young children, and she swears she can feel the beginning traces of happiness returning to flush out the darkness consuming her soul with each side splitting cackle escaping her daughter.

They continue their swaying and whirling until Leslie is unable to complete another rotation on account of her dizziness. She stares at the crackling fireplace, watching the flames dance and burn with zeal. Sasha loops her stubby fingers around the thin gold chain that surrounds Leslie’s neck and clutches it as a source of comfort.

“Dada,” Sasha mumbles before pointing to the portrait of Ben and Leslie sitting upon the mantle. His face beams with Leslie’s arms wrapping around his neck from behind, their faces flushed from the champagne they’d been drinking in celebration of him receiving the presidential nomination from the Democratic National Committee. The baby squirming in her arms serves as a physical reminder of just how ecstatic they’d been that night.

Leslie is unable to speak, choosing instead to rub circles through Sasha’s pink pajama top, whatever semblance of strength she had now rapidly deteriorating.

“Dada home?” Sasha asks, unaware of the events that transpired in Michigan. Leslie swallows thickly.

“No, not yet, baby girl.”

“Ma’am?” Charlotte interrupts from the door. “Aiden doesn’t want to come down for breakfast. Should I require him to?”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you,” Leslie says before giving Sasha a parting kiss to the forehead and leaving her in the care of the governess. Shepherd trails after her, casting her an unsure glance when Leslie hesitates outside the closed bedroom door.

“You okay?”

“No, but I don’t think I have much of a choice,” Leslie sighs. She smooths a crease in Shep’s shirt to exert the little control that she has left in her life and proceeds through the doorway like a prisoner headed to their demise.

The Mickey Mouse lamp bathes the room in warm light and a small lump lies beneath the bedspread, the yellow fabric pulled over the occupant’s head. Leslie’s stomach knots itself further as she approaches the full bed - something she thought was excessive given Aiden’s young age and small stature, but Ben had stood his ground. She lowers herself to her son’s bedside and realizes that, per usual, her husband had been right to insist on the larger mattress size. She sits beside Aiden, unable to decide whether she should touch him or not. She decides on the latter.

“Miss Charlotte said you didn’t want to come down for breakfast,” Leslie speaks softly. The bulge under the blanket shifts slightly then stills. She doesn’t know how to approach him or how to take his pain away when her own grief threatens to consume her as well. She doesn’t know what to say but finds that her words spill from her mouth as if of their own accord. “Do you want to talk about him?”

Aiden peels the covers down to his neck, his soft brown eyes brimming with tears that he manages to blink away. He flings himself into his mother’s arms. “Why did Dad die?”

“He was hurt and he lost a lot of blood,” Leslie says slowly, her voice barely a whisper. She’s not sure who she’s trying to calm more. “And the doctors tried everything that they could… but sometimes that isn’t enough.”

Aiden nods, apparently satisfied with her answer. He stares at his hands. “Miss Charlotte said that too.”

“Yeah. She’s a very smart lady,” Leslie smiles softly and brushes hair from Aiden’s forehead. “What else do you want to know?”

“Where do people go when they die?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t think anyone knows for sure.” Aiden nods once more and she takes one of his hands in hers. “Some people think that we go to a place where nothing bad ever happens. Somewhere where we’re always happy and never sick or in pain.”

“Do you think Dad’s there?” He asks earnestly.

“I’m sure of it.” The alarm on the nightstand blares until Leslie switches it off. “What do you think your daddy’s doing right now?”

Aiden’s quiet for a moment as he considers the possibilities. “Sleeping, I think. He always says he’s tired.”

“He worked very hard every day,” Leslie smiles. “Working hard makes you tired.”

“Yeah.”

They lie together, listening to the birds chirp as sunlight begins to wash over the sky.

“Mommy? What else happened when Daddy died?”

Leslie sighs. “The doctors worked long and hard to fix him, but they said he might not wake up.”

“Did he?”

She pauses, unable to continue until Aiden asks the question again. “He did. But he was very tired.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that he wanted you to know how much he loves you. And your sister. And that he wants you to be happy and grow up to do great things. And then he slipped away.” She twirls a strand of Aiden’s dark hair around her finger. He closes his eyes.

“I’m tired, Mommy..”

“Me too, baby.”

“I miss him.”

“Me too, baby.”

\- - -

_Leslie paces in the exam room, staring at the floor as she walks. A team of Secret Service agents crowd into the tiny room with her, their faces a mixture of disbelief and concern. An older agent flips through channels, each network almost identical to the last._

_“And for those of you just now joining us, we can confirm that the President has been the victim of an assassination attempt while campaigning in Detroit this evening. He was rushed to Ford Hospital shortly after two shots were fired in a crowd of over eight thousand people, leaving the nation stunned and shaken. President Wyatt has been reported to have sustained life threatening injuries and is currently receiving treatment. We go to Detroit for more coverage,” the anchor announces before the scene switches to a reporter standing outside._

_“Would you turn that shit off?” Shepherd barks at the older agent. He complies, but not before glowering at his younger colleague. Leslie messes with the bandage that wraps around her right arm._

_A knock on the door breaks her from her trance and Leslie’s head whips up as a team of surgeons squeeze into the room, their bleak faces telling her everything she needs to know._

_“Mrs. Wyatt-”_

_“No,” she interrupts. “No. No, no, no, no, no._ No. _It’s not fair,” she chokes out, her voice breaking._

_“We are terribly sorry.”_

_“He’s the_ goddamn _President of the United States! Presidents don’t die in office. They live long, happy lives after they hold office and they watch their kids grow up and get married and start families of their own and they sure as_ hell _don’t die in surgery at a Level One trauma center!”_

_“We tried everything we could, but the damage to his right subclavian artery was too extensive to repair.” The chief of surgery steps forward in an attempt to console her. He tries to place his hand on her shoulder._

_“Don’t fucking touch me,” Leslie recoils from his touch and hides behind a human wall comprised of three of the agents._

_The medical staff nods to the agents solemnly before they turn on their heels and exit, their navy scrubs swishing while they walk._

_“Fucking hell,” an agent mutters. “Romeo’s worm food.”_

_“You watch your goddamn mouth or I swear to fuck, I’ll knock you into next week,” Shepherd growls before lunging at the other man. Two agents intervene and prevent Shep from making contact with the horrified man’s face._

_“Get out,” Leslie mumbles. She pulls Shepherd to the side of the exam room and turns on the other agents. “All of you, get out!”_

_They trickle out of the room one by one, most of them casting anxious glances over their shoulder as they pass her. The door closes with a reverberating bang and Leslie collapses, sobbing, into Shepherd’s arms._

A little hand swipes against her cheeks and brushes away her tears. When she opens her eyes, Aiden’s pallid face comes into focus. She tries to smile apologetically but another tear spills from her eye.

“Are you sad, Mom?”

“Very, Aidy.”

“Me too, Mommy.”

\- - -

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Director Russell says as he, Leslie, Shepherd, and a female CIA agent claim seats at the conference table. “I assure you it’s urgent, otherwise we would not have been so persistent in securing this meeting with you, ma’am.”

Leslie smiles feebly but feels sick to her stomach.

“Mrs. Wyatt, as you may be aware, there are recording devices hidden within the Oval Office should something as tragic as this unfold,” the woman informs Leslie while referencing her notes on her government issued laptop. “While we were going through the recordings, we found one that may be connected to the President’s assassination.”

The director turns to Leslie gravely. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to play it for you and ask you some questions.”

She tenses and shifts in her seat, inching herself closer to Shepherd in what Leslie hopes is a fluid, inconspicuous motion. Their hands meet under the table and she nods her readiness.

_“Listen, Ben, it’s a simple request,” a feminine voice crackles through the laptop speaker. “I don’t get where the hesitation comes from.”_

_“But it’s not a simple request,” he hisses. “You are asking me to convince nearly the entirety of the Senate to vote against their constituent bases for a bill that, what? Is essentially just glorified imperialism?”_

_“Not all of them, just enough to pass the damn thing.”_

_“Absolutely not.”_

_“Oh come on!” She snarls. “You and I both know damn well that they’ll do whatever you ask of them, they’re members of Congress for fuck’s sake. Just host a dinner in the East Room or something, I don’t know.”_

_“I’m not intervening. If the bill doesn’t have support from either side of the aisle, then I’m sorry, it dies.”_

Leslie imagines Ben leaning back against the Resolute desk, his arms folded across his chest in an act of defiance. The visual nearly breaks her.

_“How large of a check do you expect to cash in if this bill passes?” Ben asks her hotly. “Must be pretty substantial if you’re this desperate.”_

_“You owe me this,” the woman snaps._

_“I don’t owe you_ anything, _Rosalyn, let’s make that much clear. The goal of the administration is to make the nation more equitable for the next generation and this bill isn’t conducive to that mission, evidently.”_

_“You think you have some sort of moral high ground by being married with children, but you’re just as responsible for it as I am. You don’t get to pull the family man card on me. If they didn’t stop you then, there’s no reason to let them stop you now.”_

_“Would you lower your goddamn voice!?” He barks at her. When he speaks again, his voice is a whisper. “She knows, Rosalyn. She’s known for too long and I’m tired of lying to her and hurting her. I’m done, I’m walking away.”_

White noise spills from the laptop but neither the woman nor the director make an effort to stop playback.

 _“I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’re giving me no choice. If I don’t have some sort of bipartisan initiative from you on my desk by noon tomorrow, I’m telling everyone what we did. Your name will be on the front page of every paper in this country and your legacy will be destroyed. You will give me what I want,” Rosalyn emphasizes fiercely. “It’s in your hands now..._ Mr. President.”

The audio file ends and the two CIA operatives eye each other nervously.

“When was that?” Leslie finally asks.

The woman looks at her apprehensively. “Two weeks ago.”

“We’re pretty confident that your husband and Speaker Spaulding were alluding to the Global Electoral Exchange Act that later died in the Senate,” the director sighs. “What we aren’t sure about is what the President and the Speaker may have engaged in that he wanted to keep from the press.”

“He held the dinner,” Leslie says cheerlessly. “Nothing extraordinary happened. He asked me to be with him that night and I watched as he talked to every Senator that came. It was business as usual.”

The woman folds her hands on the tabletop. “Mrs. Wyatt, do you have any idea what the Speaker could have been alluding to that the President didn’t want released? Any at all?”

Leslie stiffens. “Not a clue.”

\- - -

Leslie storms through the entrance hall, her heels clacking furiously against the marble floor. Shepherd follows a beat behind, the soles of his shoes echoing quietly as he struggles to catch up with her. She takes the stairs two at a time and barrels past the staffers and interns on the crowded stairwells as she continues her climb towards the rotunda.

“Ma’am, can you please slow down for a second?” Shepherd calls out to Leslie from behind two women that he nearly trips over. He mumbles an apology over his shoulder as he pushes through them. Instantly, he recognizes them as Democratic senators from Illinois and Arizona. He tries to push the visual of their forlorn faces and black attire from his mind as he darts onward in pursuit of the declining visual of Leslie’s blonde hair flouncing with every enraged step.

“ROSALYN!” Her voice booms upon entering the domed room.

The colossal room is sparsely occupied on account of the late evening hour but Leslie doesn’t seem to notice the horrified glares pointed in her direction. Or, conversely, she _does_ notice but simply doesn’t care that she’s garnered everyone’s intrigue. Her chest heaves too heavily - whether from her ire or the flights of stairs she just sprinted up, she’s not exactly sure - for her to worry about the wandering eyes.

The target of her wrath is everything that Leslie currently is not, with her strand of pearls, black pantsuit, and, perhaps most unnerving, calm demeanor. Rosalyn’s dark hair spills over her shoulders as she turns to see Leslie steamrolling towards her. She sizes Leslie up, taking in her labored breathing and clenched fists. She graces Leslie with a pitying half-smile that transitions to a patronizing smirk when she catches sight of Shepherd behind Leslie a few moments later.

“Leslie, dear,” she bemoans in what Leslie instantly recognizes as performative empathy. “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you _dare,”_ Leslie mutters under her breath, just loud enough for Rosalyn to hear. The other woman’s arms cross along her chest, her smirk increasing almost imperceptibly, and a fresh wave of rage courses through Leslie’s veins. She points an accusatory finger inches from Rosalyn’s red lips. “I don’t know how, but I know you’re involved in this. You are a cold-hearted, slimy, _treacherous bitch_ and- _”_

Rosalyn, infuriatingly unyielding in her composure, grabs Leslie’s wrist as Leslie’s voice begins to rise in volume and echo throughout the vaulted ceiling of the rotunda. “Mrs. Wyatt,” she smiles. “Perhaps you’d prefer to continue your reviling in a more private environment?”

Rosalyn’s eyes dart around the circular room with Leslie’s following suit. Representatives, senators, and staffers and interns alike stare wide-eyed at them in a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. Something red catches Leslie’s attention from the lower corner of her vision and she nearly screams once she realizes what she’s looking at. Her body fills with terror as her eyes rake over every star and stripe draped over her husband’s casket as it rests upon the Lincoln catafalque. She hadn’t noticed what everyone was gathered around owing to her hysteria. She stumbles backward from the velvet rope and jerks her head away, unable to confront the reality of Ben laying in state. Across from her, an enormous painting depicts Cornwallis’ surrender to a young General Washington.

Rosalyn points her head towards an adjacent corridor. “Shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being so patient in waiting for chapter three! It's about 10,000, hence the delay! It didn't make sense to break it up into smaller chapters though :) Enjoy some flashback fluff!
> 
> *For legal reasons I must state that everything regarding Senator Chuck Schumer is, obviously, a work of fiction. This chapter also ups the rating of the fic. The two are not related!!

JANUARY 2012 - INDIANAPOLIS

Ann collapses onto one of the lush couches in Ben’s - or, more accurately, because she was the one spending the most time within the premises, Leslie’s - apartment’s living room, clutching a newborn infant to her chest. The baby squirms in her arms as she searches for a pacifier in the massive diaper bag that now accompanies the two of them on every outing. She finds a suitable option at the bottom of a front pocket and pops it into her fussy child’s mouth before breathing a sigh of relief.

“I want one of those,” Leslie says longingly.

“You say that now. Just wait until you haven’t got more than five hours of uninterrupted sleep in three weeks and you’ll change your mind.” Ann rubs her temples. Her friend stares reverently at her baby’s fingers and toes and she offers the child to Leslie who eagerly takes him in her arms. “Have you and Ben talked about having kids?”

“Um, well,” Leslie shifts nervously. She runs the pad of her pointer finger along the back of the little boy's clenched fist, marveling in the sensation of his soft skin beneath her touch and the way his tiny fingers curl into a ball. “I guess the quick answer is no.”

“The quick answer?” Ann asks while reaching for the mug of green tea that Leslie made for her.

“Ben’s just so busy all the time. If Congress isn’t in session then he’s in meetings and when he is actually truly free from work, I don’t want to bother him.”

“Leslie, he’s your husband. You’re supposed to bother him.”

“I know, I know, I know. He’s so dreamy,” Leslie swoons and smiles to herself at the thought of her spouse. “I just feel like I might have rushed into things with him.” 

“The thought may have crossed my mind as well,” Ann admits. She studies Leslie’s face, scrutinizing each expression of unrestrained infatuation that her friend directs towards the tiny human laying in her lap. “It’s so unlike you to fall in love that quickly.”

Leslie nods her head, diverting her eyes from Ann’s gaze. The baby grabs ahold of Leslie’s finger, her neatly manicured nail sticking out of the top of his soft clenched fist.

Ann’s eyes widen and she nearly chokes on her mouthful of tea. She sputters, “Oh my god! You aren’t in love with him.”

“That’s not true!”

“You’ve been married for like a year now and you don’t even know the guy.”

“I know him well enough,” Leslie scoffs.

“You’re not husband and wife, you’re friends with tax benefits,” Ann laughs then shakes her head. “Leslie, oh my god.”

“He’s been in DC ever since we got married,” Leslie mumbles. “He’s coming back tomorrow and then we’re honeymooning in Hawaii.”

Ann chuckles goodnaturedly. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘vacationing’, dear.”

_ “Vacationing,”  _ Leslie says in unintelligible mockery. “That’s not the point, though. I feel like I just have this massive crush on him instead of actually being in love with him. I’m not there yet. I want to be, but I need to spend more time with him.

“God, have you guys even kissed?”

“Of course we have, Ann,” Leslie grimaces. “You were at the wedding.”

“I know, and I still haven’t forgiven you for putting me in maroon. You know how I feel about the color. I was so drunk, though. I hardly remember it.” She curls her legs underneath her and rests her chin on her palm, overtaken by interest in her best friend’s love life - or lack thereof. “That wasn’t your first kiss, was it? Have you guys slept together?”

“No, it wasn’t. We went out a few times before I said yes.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “And no, not yet.”

“Then what was it that made you say yes?” Ann asks. The intrigue threatens to consume her.

“Okay? Honestly? I have no idea. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Leslie shrugs, her frustration growing. “I am married to someone that I don’t know well and I don’t know what made me do it.” She sulks.

“But he’s pretty,” Ann later quips to Leslie’s amusement.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“You know that he’s crazy about you, right?” Ann grins helplessly. “He’s the one that asked me to set you two up.”

Leslie suddenly grows bashful and, despite her best efforts, cannot conceal the slight, cheerful curl of her lips. She runs her hands along the infant’s pajamas in an effort to distract herself, but the butterflies in her stomach flutter away and render her efforts useless. “Oh yeah?”

“He saw the photo I posted of the two of us having mimosas on my birthday. That one where you’re pouting because I was taking your picture,” Ann recalls fondly. “And if I’m remembering this correctly, he said that he had to have you - even if you were a whiny drunk. I tried to warn him.”

“I’m not a whiny drunk,” Leslie protests. “I’m a happy drunk that doesn’t photograph well.”

Ann shrugs. “Well, your tipsy temperament aside, he insisted on it. He asks about you all the time, you know. I guess it makes sense now, knowing that you hardly talk to him.”

“He asks about me?” Leslie whips her head up, fully beaming now.

“Every single week,” she groans. “I keep telling him to grow a pair and reach out to you but he said pretty much the same thing that you did. That he’s afraid that you don’t want to talk to him. He called me at like three in the morning last night freaking out because he misses you and is worried about tomorrow. He’s pretty damn lucky that I was already awake because I think I would’ve killed him if I’d been asleep for the first time since giving birth to that monster. No one ever tells you before you have kids that babies are nocturnal.” She pauses, looking at her son, then stares her best friend dead in the eye. “Leslie, babies are nocturnal.”

“Well he shouldn’t be worried,” Leslie gasps and turns her flustered attention back to Ann’s son, now sleeping peacefully.

She studies the polar bears on the little boy’s pajamas and chuckles at the matching hat and thumbs one of the little circular bear ears on the top. Any anxiety she’d had about their reunion was now replaced with a nervous anticipation, and she wonders how he’ll react to seeing her. She wonders if he’ll embrace her, clinging to her for life, or - if he dares - if he’ll kiss her with the agency and urgency of a man that’s been deprived of physical affection for so long. The latter causes her breath to hitch and her stomach to twist and turn.

“He’s pretty perfect, isn’t he?” Ann’s question breaks Leslie from her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she swoons.

“I meant  _ him,” _ Ann laughs and picks up her son. “But I guess Ben isn’t half bad. When are you going to tell him that you’re afraid of flying?”

“As we’re taking off.”

\- - -

Leslie rocks nervously on her feet, shifting her weight from front to back and side to side. In her cotton floral print dress that swishes against the top of her knees, she feels remarkably underdressed for the occasion, but Ben had insisted that she not dress up for the encounter on account of their departing flight. Men and women with bulky cameras crowd behind a barrier and threaten to invade her personal space as she waits. Between the thumping of her heartbeat pounding away in her ears she can make out the occasional snap of camera shutters originating from the left of her. She releases a shaky breath as people in business attire exit from the bridge and file into the concourse, her nerves building with each face that appears that she doesn’t recognize.

He finally rounds the corner and his dark eyes scan the waiting area before landing on her and his face breaks out into a grin. His pace quickens as he strides towards her and Leslie smiles nervously as the shutters click away rapidly and from her peripheral, she thinks she sees photographers in the front of the line being shoved by those in the back as they attempt to snap her photo. She makes the mistake of trying to assess the situation, because she turns her head and is instantly blinded by a flash coming from over the shoulders of those in the front of the crowd.

An arm loops possessively around her waist and she feels herself being tipped backwards until she thinks that she’s nearly parallel with the ground, yet flush against the body of who she assumes - of who she  _ hopes  _ \- is her husband. His other arm snakes around her neck and pulls her lips to him and she feels herself drowning in his affection, cupping his face with her palm in what Leslie realizes will later become a heavily scrutinized image - but she doesn’t care. She can’t even bring herself to pretend to worry about what people will say about their reunion, not with his arms cradling her to him, his hot breath on her cheek and the feeling of pure  _ trust  _ coursing through her body. She feels weightless as they part, unable to tell if the dizziness is the result of the way he held her, the flash of the cameras, or the kiss - or perhaps a mixture of all three.

_ “God, I missed you so much,”  _ Ben hisses against her ear before pressing a haste kiss against her hair. When she finally opens her eyes, his handsome face stares back at her, completely entranced by her.

“You should’ve called,” she whispers and wipes the traces of lipstick from his face, the shutters still firing furiously in the background.

“The phone works both ways, love. I thought it was a hint or something.”

“No,” Leslie smiles. “I really missed you too.”

He slips his hand into hers. “Then I guess we have to make up for a lot of lost time, huh?”

\- - -

She clenches her eyes shut the moment she sees their surroundings starting to move. The rest of their reunion had gone well in her opinion, with them walking hand in hand to their gate with the occasional stolen kiss as they caught each other up to speed over the last year of their lives. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment by divulging her flying anxiety. Ben’s hand lays protectively over hers on the arm rest.

“You okay?” He asks. She shakes her head no. “It’s not so bad.”

The engines start to whirl and her breathing quickens.

“Hey, tell me about that pony again. The one that your town loves so much for some reason.”

“He’s not a pony, he’s a mini horse, and his name is Li’l Sebastian,” Leslie retorts. “They’re completely different. A pony is disproportionately sized and a mini horse is proportional. If he were a pony he’d be a freak, but since he’s a mini horse he’s adorable. We used to put on this harvest festival every fall and he was the major attraction. People came from all over the midwest to see him in all his glory.”

Ben watches as the ground whizzes past them as they gain momentum, Leslie’s eyes still remaining closed. “But I mean like… why? What’s so special about him?”

Her eyes pop open and she turns to him incredulously. “Did you really just ask me that?”

He laughs and points at the window, the ground now rapidly fading from sight. “We’re off the ground now.” She turns to the window and considers her predicament then shivers in the cold recycled air.

“Give me your blazer,” she barks grumpily. “After that we’re having a come to Jesus moment about the importance of Li’l Sebastian.” He laughs again, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it around her bare shoulders.

“Please, enlighten me.”

\- - -

_ You’re on the front of the Indianapolis Post,  _ Ann’s text reads.  _ And in every other paper in some way or another. _

Leslie zooms in on the image Ann attached so that she can read the article accompanying the photo of her and Ben in the airport. The journalist rambles on and on about their reunion, attempting to describe the events to readers that didn’t have the pleasure of witnessing it firsthand, but Leslie is of the mind that the writing comes off as overzealous rather than informative. The front page’s article talks about their  _ passion  _ and  _ desperation  _ before continuing on the twenty eighth page, but Leslie doesn’t bother asking Ann to send her the rest of the piece. Instead, she pushes herself away from the beachfront bar and meanders back to the spot she’d claimed near the shoreline.

With any luck, Ben would be finished with the exercise regime that he insisted on doing at the early morning hour. She’d tried to convince him to stay in bed with her, arguing that they were on vacation and that the workouts could wait until they were home, that they could continue enjoying each other’s company, but he whispers something about using it as a release from the stress of bickering daily with his tenacious colleagues and that he can’t risk breaking the habit now before leaving her alone under the warmth of the covers.

Leslie sighs and kicks the sand while she walks. Her phone indicates that it’s only half past nine - not late in the day by any means - but she’d hoped that Ben would’ve been back by now. She continues along the beach and is about to try calling him when someone runs up to her from behind and squats down so they can fling her over their shoulders much like a first responder might do in a rescue scenario. She screams and hollers as the unidentifiable man runs off with her, her legs flailing as she clutches onto his shoulders in a desperate effort to not fall off.

_ “Put me down!”  _ Leslie screeches but the man only readjusts his grip on her. She lifts her head, hoping to make eye contact with a stranger that may come to her aid but the conglomeration of onlookers watch with a mixture of concern and amusement.

“She’s my wife,” the dark haired man calls out to the group as they pass by. A combination of relief and annoyance washes over Leslie - relief that the assailant is not, in fact, a stranger and annoyance at her current predicament. Ben’s shoulder digs uncomfortably into her chest and she feels her body weight shifting towards the ground.

“Ben, I’m going to fall!” She cries. Ben laughs and lets her slide awkwardly down his back until she’s on the ground again. She pushes him towards the towels she’s laid out. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought someone was trying to kidnap me!”

“They’d bring you back,” Ben laughs. “You’re too mouthy.”

She pushes him again and this time he falls dramatically to the ground while pulling her down with him. She lands on top of him, her hands resting on his muscled chest as their faces inch closer and closer until he kisses her sweetly.

“You have a funny idea of romantic,” Leslie finally says.

\- - -

Leslie lays on her back on the deck of the small dual console boat, her hat covering her eyes as she attempts to tan. Ben shifts beside her on the outstretched blanket and places a gentle hand against her bare stomach as he kisses her shoulder and sweetly calls her name.

“What?” She mumbles sleepily.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“That’s fine,” she yawns.

“No, it’s not,” he prods her lightly. “I need you to be awake and away from the water’s edge so we can head into port.”

“Just five more minutes,” Leslie bargains as the sun warms her skin. In the brief amount of time that they’ve spent in the sun, the freckles on her chest have already increased in prominence to Ben’s delight.

He sighs at her carefree state, not particularly caring for the way that it prevents their return to the resort and their awaiting dinner. Ben gathers her in his arms and Leslie yelps as she’s jolted from her near unconscious state. He walks towards the edge of the anchored boat and places his foot on the side. Leslie clutches the fabric of Ben’s shirt in a deathgrip as she dangles a few mere feet above the salty waves that cause the boat to sway in a manner that had nearly lulled her to sleep just moments earlier.

“No, Ben, no! Please! Stop! Please! Don’t!” Leslie shrieks and pleads, but Ben’s chest heaves as he chuckles. “Stop! I don’t want to get wet!”

Her begging falls on deaf ears, however, and Ben tosses her overboard with a fit of laughter. She screams as she falls from his arms and she breaks the surface of the crystal clear water with a splash before her head pops up between the calm waves. She spits the salty water from her mouth and pushes her hair from her face while just managing to conceal her fury.

“Leslie!” Ben calls while trying to restrain himself. “If you didn’t want to get wet then why did you jump in?!”

She glowers at him as he stands on the deck. “You’re an  _ ass,  _ Ben.”

He peels his shirt off and tosses it haphazardly to the deck before swan diving in next to her, resurfacing right next to her and pulling her close. She gives him a stern glare but it only fuels his mischievousness and he leaves kisses on her neck and face until Leslie’s anger subsides. She runs her fingers through his wet hair.

“So what’s next for us?” He asks between kisses. “What’s next on Mrs. Leslie Knope’s five year plan?”

Leslie leans away from him so she can study his face. “What makes you say that?”

“Doesn’t every woman have one?”

“No.”

“But do you?”

Leslie scowls. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Ben taps his fingertips one by one against her back. “So? What’s next?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she takes in his expression, trying to gauge whether or not she should divulge her next major aspiration in life. She sighs. “It’s, uh. It’s a big one. So if you aren’t ready, I get it.”

Ben’s face softens. “Try me, Leslie.” She pushes a strand of wet hair from his face and smiles gently, having second thoughts. He grows playful again. “You have the floor, Majority Leader Knope.”

“That’s a high honor that you’ve bestowed on me.”

“Would you rather be the Majority Whip?” He asks and wraps his arms around her waist as they float. “Wait, that’s hot. I think I like that better, actually. The thought of you keeping some insolent senator in line is really doing it for me.”

“Are you through, Mr. Senator?”

“My apologies.”

Leslie releases a breath, one last huff before she launches into a passionate defense. “You spend a lot of time in DC because of work. And that’s amazing, it really is. You’re part of something that’s so much bigger than yourself and you were chosen by the citizens to work for them and to protect their interests. But it’s lonely in Indiana. I go to work, and I have Ann and my other friends, but it’s still lonely without you. And I propose that one way of rectifying this matter is through the adoption of a caregiving role - one that allows the fostering of a living being.”

Ben smiles, diverting his eyes as he realizes what she’s getting at. “Ah, yes. Now tell me, would you prefer a dog or a cat?”

“Benjamin,” Leslie says seriously.

He chuckles and shakes her gently. “Or a plant?”

“You’re being crass.”

“Some senators’ wives have horses.”

Leslie places her hands on his shoulders and her voice grows stern. “A baby, Ben.”

He smiles. “I know, I know. I just like seeing you flustered.”

They float wordlessly and Leslie shivers as the breeze chills her wet shoulders.

“What are you thinking?” She finally asks.

“I’m just wondering if you know how babies are made.”

“Of course I do.” Leslie scoffs and leans in closer. “Through successful IVF procedures.”

Ben smirks. “I think there’s another way that’s a tad more economical.”

She rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “Ah, yes, Benjamin Wyatt: fiscal conservative.”

“It’d be a hell of an icebreaker,” he says and runs his thumb down her exposed spine, causing her to arch into him.

“Maybe you’ll just have to work your charm on me. Treat me like a lady.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Ben whispers as he leans in to kiss her. He runs his fingers under the thick straps of her swimsuit top until she whines and bats his hand away. He grins impishly. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

“Yours are already showing.”

“So you can see why I’m trying to make this more equitable!”

“You don’t deserve equity right now, you got me all wet.”

Ben laughs haughtily, “I really like the sound of that.”

Leslie runs her thumb along his jaw. “You’re such a scoundrel. You only have one thing on your mind.”

“Yes, my ridiculously hot wife just told me that she wants to have a baby. I’m just thinking of all the possibilities - the bed, the shower, the balcony.”

“Ben.”

His eyes close lazily. “I could take you on the floor… or up against the wall. Or right now on the boat.”

“Our first time is not going to be on the deck of that damn boat,” Leslie says decisively.

Ben gazes at her reverently, as if she’s some rare specimen that he’s found and is reluctant to share with the rest of the world. “Where do you want it to be?”

“You’re serious about the baby thing?”

Ben nods and she considers her options. She could just as easily take him up on any of the previous suggestions that he’d listed - and in the past, she’s fornicated in less romantic settings than that, even - but with the potential of bringing a child into the world as the result of their fooling around, she much prefers a more sensual environment.

“Candles and flowers with the waves crashing in the background,” she ultimately decides.

Ben mulls her statement over. “Okay,” he finally says. “But it might take a few tries, Leslie.”

“I know.” Leslie grows solemn at the prospect of having to wait longer than she might anticipate to receive her baby, and then her anxiety surrounding her ability to conceive shifts to concern in her husband’s ability to pleasure her. She chastises herself for the thought, though, reminding herself that there’s no possible way that the man isn’t good with his tongue considering how smooth a talker he is. She wraps her arms around his neck. “We’re actually trying?”

“Ben and Leslie are officially in the baby making business.” He smiles then grows serious. “Leslie, I…”

“What is it?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

“I’m really glad you’re in my life,” Ben later says. Leslie can’t help but feel that there’s something more that he wants to say, something that he wishes she knew but is too afraid to tell her, based on the trace of longing that she detects in his dark eyes. Her thumb brushes against his cheek.

“I don’t think that’s what you actually wanted to tell me,” she says gently.

He sighs and clears his throat, and Leslie is struck by how vulnerable he appears now that it’s just the two of them, his charismatic persona left on the deck of the boat. Her throat tightens and she realizes what’s about to come tumbling from his lips, and she realizes that she’s finally ready to hear it, that she’s finally there as well, and that she’s more than willing to admit it to herself even though the prospect of saying it aloud terrifies her. When he says it, it will just confirm what she’s known for a while now to be true. When she says it, it will make everything real.

“Leslie, I love you. I know that you’re not there yet, but I am. And you don’t need to say it if you’re not ready to, but I am so helplessly in love with you that it’s laughable. I’ve spent over a year falling in love with you from a distance and now that I’m with you again, that distance feels unbearable. And if you ever do get there, I’d really like it if you moved to Washington with me.”

She blinks and tosses her hair. “I’m there,” she whispers. “I think I’ve been there for a long time, just too afraid to admit it.”

A drop of water drips from Ben’s hair and rolls down the side of his face. “So it’s settled, then,” he says finally. “Mrs. Leslie Knope is moving to Washington.”

\- - -

How they wound up in a lingerie store, Leslie doesn’t know. She also doesn’t know where her husband’s wandered off to in the massive store. She was turned around for the briefest of moments as she checked the price of a canvas bag in the front display and by the time she’d turned around, he was gone.

“Red?” Leslie asks when Ben finally reunites with her while holding a bra and a pair of underwear. Her eyebrow arches.

“Yeah, I like red. A lot.” Ben shrugs.

“Give me a reason why I should let you buy that set,” Leslie challenges. It’s not that she’s necessarily against the idea of her wearing it, but between its intricate lace design and the tiny straps precariously holding the thin fabric together, she could almost guarantee that this would be a single use garment.

“Because it’s skimpy. And red. And you’d look really good in it. And it’s red.” 

Leslie takes the racy getup from Ben’s grasp and turns it in her hand as she examines it. “It sure doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“Sure it does,” Ben says pompously before wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “It’s making me imagine your titties in my mouth.”

Leslie gasps and twists so she can see his smug expression as an electric current flows through her and culminates in a spark between her legs. She forces herself out of his grasp and swats his chest in punishment, her palm landing against his shirt with a resounding smack. The disciplinary action has the opposite outcome than she desires, however, as Ben laughs harder at her incredulous, slack jawed look of shock and defends himself from the following playful blows that Leslie attempts to bestow upon him.

“Lower your voice!” She screeches between fits of laughter. She looks nervously around the empty store, but the young ladies folding inventory and staffing the sales counter continue working as if Ben and Leslie don’t exist. She tosses the lingerie set back to him. “Do you like it for what it is or do you like it because it’s red?”

“Yes.”

“Ben,” she doubles down. “If it didn’t come in red would you still like it? Because if not, then we can find something else - something more durable, preferably.”

Ben sighs and tosses the underwear into a nearby bin and tries unsuccessfully not to sulk. Leslie guides him to turn around and she pushes him in the direction of the assortment of fragrance products at the back of the store.

“Why don’t you look around over there and I’ll find something to surprise you with later? Something red, of course.”

“And slutty,” he adds, his mood rapidly improving.

Leslie laughs and winks, tossing her hair flirtatiously. “That much was implied.”

She peruses the displays and runs her hands over the silk, cotton, and lace options that are more conservative in nature before continuing on in the store towards the more revealing selections. She glances over her shoulder to see Ben sniffing a perfume sample as he eyes her, and she instructs him to turn around before considering her options. She’s ultimately torn between a set complete with ribbons and frills or a see through top with matching thong bottoms containing a suggestive invitation embroidered on the back of the waistline. Leslie mulls the two choices over, trying to imagine which she thinks she’ll feel more confident in but realizes either prospect is equally nerve wracking. She then tries to determine which one Ben would like more, but she figures he’ll appreciate either option so long as he gets to peel it off of her. She balls her favorite up in her fist so that it’s hidden within her grasp and makes her way towards Ben at the registers.

“What’s that?” Leslie nods towards the small box of perfume that he sets upon the counter.

“Just something extra.”

Leslie motions for the paper that he’d sprayed with the sampler bottle and sniffs it before grimacing and coughing. “That’s… a lot.” She rubs her nose with the back of her wrist. “It’s like they asked for a high schooler’s opinion on how to make the most cliche ‘sexy’ perfume.” Despite her efforts, she can’t clear the musky vanilla scent currently overwhelming her senses and she exhales forcefully. “Turn around,” she commands as the associate rings up the underwear and places it into the bag next to the perfume bottle.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.”

Leslie sniffs the card again and finds, to her surprise, that it’s become more palatable now that she’s had time to register the first wave and she detects hints of cinnamon and floral notes this time around. “It’s not horrible,” she admits and grabs the shopping bag from the counter. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

\- - -

Ben stops in front of the locked hotel room door, undressing her in his mind as they stand in the middle of the hallway while he fumbles for the keycard. The door pops open and he wedges his foot between the frame and looks Leslie up and down. Her black dress hugs her curves and he’s been longingly eyeing the zipper on the back all night - even more so after catching a glimpse of a red bra strap - but he hones in on her eyes, full of anxious anticipation.

“You look stunning,” he says lowly as she steps closer. He draws in a deep breath and sighs at the traces of cinnamon. “And you smell incredible too.”

She rests her hand on his mid thigh. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m not stalling, I’m offering you an out if you want it.”

“I don’t want an out,” she says softly. She pushes the door open and steps over his foot. “Come on.”

Leslie freezes as she rounds the corner into the suite and lavender floods her senses. Hundreds of small, light purple candles illuminate the room as they burn and cast dancing shadows on the wall. Scattered rose petals mark the path from the entryway to the bed and blow off the bed as the breeze drifts through the open window. If she concentrates, she can hear the waves crashing in the distance. Leslie turns to Ben.

“Oh my god. I didn’t think you’d actually be able to make it happen.”

“Ask and you shall receive. Or something like that.”

“But what are they going to think?” Leslie asks, her eyes widening.

“Who?”

“The workers that set everything up.”

“They’ll think that we’re two young people in love enjoying each other’s company,” he whispers and sweeps her off the floor, her knees dangling over his forearm. “Relax.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulder and grants him a sarcastic raise of her eyebrows. “Has anyone ever told you that being picked up unexpectedly isn’t as romantic as you think it is?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stops a short distance from the side of the bed and Leslie looks to the mattress then back at him. She shakes her head furiously with the realization that he’s about to throw her and latches on tighter, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“Ben, I swear to god,” she pleads through her giggles, but it’s too late.

In the time that it took for her to mutter her protests, he’s already tossed her through the air and onto the bed. She yelps and lands in the array of petals with a soft thud as the flowers fall from the air and settle around her, followed by Ben’s body weight jostling the mattress and he lands on his side beside her.

“You’re like a teenage boy,” she laughs as she crawls on top of him. “You don’t listen. You just want to get in someone’s pants.”

She lowers her lips to his and his hands run up her legs and underneath the hem of her dress as his fingers slip under the waistband of her panties. She pulls at his tie until it rests limply in her hands and she tosses it to the floor as Ben shrugs out of his shirt before he prompts Leslie to stop and turn around so that he can grab a hold of the dress’s zipper. He pauses and she leans back against his chest.

“What’s wrong?” She asks breathlessly.

“I can be a real good listener, though,” he says defensively. “If you change your mind about having a baby, you let me know.”

“Ben.”

“It really only changes one thing for me at the end. But it’s kind of an important part of the process if you want a kid.”

Leslie whines and grinds her hips against his strained pants. “Would you shut up and take this off me?”

He needs no further encouragement. The dress gives way and he pulls it over Leslie’s head to admire her exposed skin and the way that her back arches under his touch. And though he’d seen her in this state of undress countless times over the past few days, it hadn’t been in this context, with the underlying assumption that they were to finally give into their carnal needs. Leslie leans on to her forearms and wiggles her behind coquettishly despite not knowing whether Ben is watching or not. She figures that, if he’s anything like the other men she’s been in this scenario with, his attention is already laser focused on her. His palm lands against her bare ass with a smack and confirms her suspicions.

“Cute,” he laughs haughtily and lifts the embroidered waistband so that it snaps back against her skin. “But I don’t need your panties’ permission to spank you, babe.”

“Why’s that?” Leslie asks then gasps as two of Ben’s fingers pet her folds through the red fabric.

“Because I can do what I want.” His hand strikes her other cheek and she moans before resting her head on the mattress and looking back at Ben’s smug face.

“That’s rather misogynistic, don’t you think?” She grins.

“From what I felt earlier, I think you like misogyny in moderation.” Ben squeezes her hips before returning to the spot between her legs and arches an eyebrow at her. “How are you already this wet? I’ve barely touched you.”

Leslie shrugs as best as she can given her current position. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

Ben huffs and pushes her hips down to the mattress so that she’s laying flat on her stomach before he prompts her to roll over. She complies eagerly and tilts her chin while seeking out a kiss as Ben lowers himself to her, indulges her, and then directs his attention to the red mesh that covers her nipples. His tongue circles rhythmically while his hand mirrors his mouth’s actions and then he stops, flicks her as she gasps excitedly, and repeats the process as her hand tangles into his hair. Leslie prompts him to stop while fighting for her breath and motions for him to switch sides.

“And you acted so offended when I suggested it in the store,” Ben sneers.

“It wasn’t what you said,” Leslie sighs as he moves the fabric out of the way and his mouth closes over the other nipple. “It’s because you said it in public. People could’ve heard you.”

“That’s part of the appeal,” he murmurs against her skin.

She opens her mouth to tease him but he grazes his teeth against her sensitive skin and she chokes on her unexpected intake of air. Ben smirks and lifts the red fabric over Leslie’s head before flinging it across the room with their other abandoned clothes. He lowers his lips to her neck and kisses his way up to behind her ear, licking and sucking at the taut skin as he attempts to blemish her pale skin and as his fingers dip below her underwear and circles her clit before sliding inside of her.

Leslie pants and writhes beneath his touch. Her eyes roll to a shut as she concentrates on the sensation his hand provides and angles her hips upwards to encourage his fingers to go deeper, but he abruptly stops and starts to crawl down her body.

“Hey,” she lays her palm on the side of his face when he curls his fingers around the waistband of her underwear in preparation of pulling them down her hips. “That hardly seems fair. You’ve been giving without receiving.”

“I don’t mind,” he says earnestly. He starts to pull the fabric down but her hand stops him. “Really.”

She pushes herself into a sitting position. “No, let me return the favor. It’s your turn.”

She reaches for his belt and carefully unzips his slacks and helps him out of them. She hums and curls her nails against his skin as she tries to free him from his briefs, but he stops her in a reversal of their earlier roles.

“Ben,” she pouts.

“Listen, as… amazing as that sounds,” he manages to say in a strained voice, “if you put my cock in your mouth, that’ll be it for me.” Leslie’s quiet, as if considering what it’ll mean for them if she insists on blowing him. She climbs into his lap and reaches for his shaft. Ben contorts as he evades her touch. “Leslie, I mean it. I’m already hanging on by a thread.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” she says and kisses him sweetly. “But you’ll let me some other time?”

He snorts. “Oh my god, yes.”

Leslie lays back on her side and Ben presses against her from behind, their legs tangling as he positions his head at her entrance. He presses his lips against her shoulder and she nods when he whispers her name as if saying his evening prayers. Her knee bends and points into the air and Ben pushes into her, followed by deeper, faster thrusts and Leslie allows herself to become undone by each glide between her legs. She rests her hand on Ben’s forearm and he shrugs off her grasp, choosing instead to intertwine their fingers as he continues to fuck her.

She stares at the diamonds poking between their fingers as they rest on her belly and she wonders how her life with him will unfold. She imagines them, thirty years older, spending holidays with their children and their children’s children - and she wonders if this will be the occasion in which she gets pregnant. She wonders if they’ll be so fortunate so as to start their family on their first try.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when Ben’s hand leaves hers to furiously play with her clit and she feels the familiar tight sensation building between her legs as she spreads her legs further in an act of approval. Ben’s groaning grows more irregular and strained as she circles her hips. His hand circles with one final motion containing more force than before and Leslie’s body tenses as she screams and clenches around Ben’s cock. He manages to give her two more messy strokes before he himself is overcome by his orgasm.

They lay together, their chests heaving violently as they tumble down from their highs. Leslie crawls away from him and piles pillows together before elevating her hips on them and curling her knees over the headboard of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Ben laughs.

“Letting gravity do its thing,” she responds simply, as if it should be obvious. She can’t help the smile that forms on her lips. “Do you think we just did it?”

“Leslie?” Ben laughs. “Honey? Were you here for any of that?”

She grabs a handful of the rose petals and tosses them at him. They fall to the mattress, having gained no forward momentum. “No, I meant do you think we just made a baby?”

“No clue,” he smiles and pulls a petal from her sweaty forehead. “I think we should be diligent in the process, though.” He kisses her. “I also think that I should blow the candles out before we burn the building down.”

\- - -

_ How’s your vacation going? _ Ann asks via text while Ben sips champagne at one of the tall tables on the resort’s terrace. Leslie gives her virgin pineapple daiquiri a swirl with the straw before taking a sip.

_ I’ve been getting drunk and having mindblowing sex with my gorgeous husband for the past week, _ she writes back with a self-satisfied grin.

The entertainment of the evening serenades the romantically lit patio with covers of what she recognizes to be Jimmy Buffett’s discography and Leslie rests her chin on her hand while watching Ben observing the band, his hair blowing in the warm breeze as she’s overwhelmed with love for the man in front of her. She gives her left hand a once over and swoons as the gems catch the light when she rocks her palm along the tabletop.

_ Oh no! You’re married now! _ Ann’s text reads before ending with a winking emoticon.  _ Drunk honeymoon sex is fun, isn’t it? _

_ I wouldn’t know, _ Leslie responds.  _ The drinking and the sex have been mutually exclusive. _

_ Huh? _ Ann texts back followed by instant replies of  _ OH MY GOD!!! _ and  _ when did you two start trying? _

_ A few days ago, _ she shoots back. Ben raises his champagne flute to his lips. The crystal glows in dim light.  _ He’s perfect. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to thank you for bringing him to me - and even that won’t be enough. By the way, what do you want me to bring back for you? _

Leslie’s phone vibrates in her hand a few minutes later.  _ A child with your eyes and Ben’s hair, _ Ann says. Leslie giggles silently.

_ There may be a bit of a wait on that one, _ she replies.  _ He does have great hair, though. _

_ Fine, I’ll take my thanks in the form of authentic Hawaiian coffee. Light roast. _

_ Noted, _ Leslie texts back and sets her phone face down on the table.

The band finishes the song they’re playing, pausing for the polite applause before launching into another tropics inspired tune. Ben takes Leslie’s hand and leans close to her to whisper in her ear.

“That’s the second time they’ve played this song,” he murmurs with a laugh. “I think they’re banking on people being too drunk to tell.”

“Or too afraid to call them out,” she says pleasantly. She brushes her lips against his in a fleeting display of affection. “Ann wants coffee.”

Ben nods and takes another sip of the golden liquid he’s been nursing. “I think I’m drunk, Leslie.” He laughs and squeezes her hand. “I keep smelling that perfume I bought for you.”

“You’re not drunk,” she says airily. “I’m just trying to get you into bed with me.”

He turns to her with an amused look. “There are people around, Knope.”

Leslie takes her straw into her mouth again and rolls it between her teeth before taking a sip, her cheeks hollowing. “That’s part of the appeal.”

\- - -

APRIL 2012 - WASHINGTON DC

Leslie eyes the crowd of people gathered in the grand foyer of the Capitol building with wonder. People from all walks of life hurry into the warm air of the hearth of the legislative seat and brush the soft, wet flakes of snow from their hats and jackets before meandering towards the roped off lines in the visitor’s center. She watches as fathers dole out headphones for the audio tour and mothers shepherd their children towards the escalators in the back of the entrance hall and as gaggles of chatty teenagers follow the leads of overwhelmed school chaperones. Leslie shivers and pulls her overcoat tighter around her torso, unable to warm herself after stepping out of the unexpected spring blizzard that Ben says truly exemplifies the harsh unpredictability of Washington weather.

The building buzzes with life and a desire to connect with the founding principles of the nation, and Leslie is so overtaken with awe that she doesn’t realize that she’s marveling in the grandeur of it all until Ben’s warm fingers slip into her cold hand. He shakes his head, chuckling silently at her unbridled amazement before pulling her towards a narrow corridor with far fewer people occupying it than the lobby they’d left behind. He mentions the purpose of the slim passageway, allowing access to the floor level office hideaways of freshman and low ranking senators alike as Leslie nods and tries to take it all in. They’re meant to provide a retreat from the Senate chamber, Ben explains, as well as serving as a place to meet with constituents prior to an important vote.

His hideaway, while quaint and still below the Senate chamber, is situated closest to the staircase leading to the second floor - a feat that even Ben is surprised by. He remarks that freshman senators, lacking seniority, rarely receive Capitol offices within close proximity to the Senate and shrugs when Leslie amusedly questions how he managed to pull the stunt off.

He leads her through yet more tight corridors and up a flight of stairs until they stare at a set of heavy wood doors a few feet beyond a sign denoting that only senators are to be permitted beyond that point. Leslie eyes Ben skeptically but he insists that the coast is clear and that they won’t get in trouble - and with a face like his, with his sharp jaw and soft eyes paired with his clever mind, she can’t find it within her to do the sensible thing, she can’t seem to tell him no, and before she knows it, she’s standing in the musky air of the Senate chamber. She gasps despite herself and, after realizing what she’s just done, presses her lips together until she tastes the lip balm she’d applied before their arrival. 

They amble and drift aimlessly through the room, weaving between the rows of desks pausing briefly for Ben to name the senator that belongs to a particular desk when Leslie asks about random seats on the floor. She’s unsure if he’s the world’s best improviser and is making names up on the spot or if he actually has memorized each Congressperson’s seating location while in session, but she smiles and nods all the same. Their little game continues until Ben directs his attention towards a desk on the far right side of the room.

Leslie stops in front of the desk, unable to determine why Ben’s halted their strolling. Situated closest to the doors on the Republican side, the desk starts the final row of tables and is identical to the other ninety nine it shares the chamber with, furthering Leslie’s confusion until, finally, she decides to outright ask Ben what they’re looking at.

“It’s the candy desk,” Ben says proudly, his handsome face lighting up with a boyish excitement. “We’re not allowed to have food in here so the Republican senators have an entire desk full of contraband.” He pulls the drawer open and hundreds of pieces of hard candy shift to the front, their bright cellophane wrappings crinkling as they slide against each other. He pulls a handful from the desk and drops the candies in his pocket before offering one to Leslie.

“Senator Wyatt, did you just condone stealing?” Leslie asks playfully before twisting the ends of the wrapping and placing the red piece of candy on her tongue.

Ben quiets his voice and leans in to whisper to her. “Yeah, well, they’ve been getting rich off of privatized healthcare so I think this is the first of many reparations owed to us by the Republican party.”

They continue their tour without speaking, wrapping around the chamber to snake through the Democratic seats, repeating the cycle of Leslie asking about his colleagues and Ben answering accordingly. Ben stops Leslie when they’re in the second row of desks in the middle left section and lifts her with care so that she’s sitting on the desk second from the left aisle.

“This,” he says while his hands slip to the outside of each of her knees, “is where I get to listen to adults bicker like children each week.”

“Lucky you,” she says with faux sympathy. She considers the view from his professional perspective. “You’re so close to the front. It’s kind of sexy.”

“So I’ve been told by the many retired women that regularly watch C-SPAN.”

“They’ll have to get in line. I have dibs.”

Leslie giggles flirtatiously and his lips are swiftly on hers, his hands trailing along the sides of her black tights until they travel past her hips to rest lovingly on the sides of her stomach. Traces of artificial strawberry flavoring linger on her lips as he tips her chin up and Leslie sighs against his mouth while clutching the lapels of his jacket in an effort to pull him closer. Ben pulls away from her, breathless as he rests his forehead against hers and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

The doors to the left of the room screech open and Ben flinches from Leslie much like if she was a flame he’d burned himself from, whirling to face the intruder that’s just stumbled upon them. Ben extends his hand to Leslie and she slides off the desk before smoothing the nonexistent creases from her dress. A particularly amused Senator Chuck Schumer peers at them from over his glasses before heading to the front of the room to retrieve a stack of papers from his desk while muttering something about being young and in love.

“Senator,” Schumer says on his way out of the chamber but pauses when he sees Leslie’s hand resting over her stomach. It’s a relatively new behavior that Leslie’s adopted - one that she rarely realizes she’s doing until afterward - but her hand instinctively rests at her lower abdomen as a source of comfort. The senator’s eyes shift between his colleague and his wife knowingly. “I see congratulations are in order. I’ll have my staff send flowers.”

“Senator Schumer,” Ben interjects while clutching Leslie’s hanging hand. “You really don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. The addition of a little one is an exciting time in any young couple’s lives, especially the first child. Your lives are about to be forever changed.” The elder man smiles as if lost in memories from many moons ago before he shakes his head. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘the days are long but the years are short’? It’s terribly true. Enjoy every moment.”

“Thank you, sir,” Leslie says gratefully. He nods and turns from them.

“Senator,” Ben calls after him. He lingers in the open doorway. “If you don’t mind, we’re trying to keep it under wraps until we’re ready to tell everyone.”

“Of course,” Senator Schumer replies with a wink. The door groans to a close behind him. Leslie releases a breath she didn’t realize she’s been holding.

“Oh my god,” she shakes. The candy unexpectedly grows sour. “I thought he was going to tear into us for being in here.”

“No, that’s not like him,” Ben replies. “But I should probably try to keep a low profile around him now.” He turns to his wife and laughs airily upon seeing her concerned expression. “Come on, there’s more that I want to show you.”

Hand in hand, they push out from the Senate floor and walk towards the center of the building when a tall brunette woman catches Leslie’s attention. She looks too well dressed to work in politics, Leslie thinks, with her Louboutin heels and strand of pearls dangling from her neck. Leslie tugs at Ben’s arm and indicates the woman of interest with a nod of her head. He leans down to murmur next to her ear as they pass the woman and a distressed Congressman engaging in what looks like a heated conversation.

“That’s Rosalyn Spaulding,” Ben’s gruff voice answers. “Speaker of the House and Washington’s resident bitch.”

Leslie scowls, her voice low. “You shouldn’t talk about women that way.”

“I wouldn’t if it weren’t so fitting for her,” he grumbles. “Rumor on Capitol Hill is that she originally planned on running as a Democrat in Maryland until some big name donors wrote her a check to run as a conservative.”

“Why would she do that?” Leslie asks naively. In her heart of hearts, she knows the suggestion to be true but the idealistic part of her refuses to believe that a woman would place higher importance on money than serving her constituents.

“Power,” Ben replies simply. “And her base loves her - even with her ruthlessness and lavish spending. It’s part of the appeal, apparently. There’s no getting rid of her.”

Leslie glances back over her shoulder. The woman’s red lips purse and she shakes her head no, her arms crossing her chest to the Congressman’s frustration. Her and Rosalyn’s eyes meet for an abrupt moment before the hammering in Leslie’s chest forces her to tear her eyes away. Her hand unconsciously presses against her barely noticeable bump.

The checkered floor in the corridor gives way to the smooth waxed sandstone of the rotunda. Leslie gawks at the elevated ceiling, her eyes settling on a depiction of George Washington on the ceiling. She spins, each work of art being more impressive than the last. She turns flabbergasted to her husband.

“What?” She asks innocently when she sees his beaming face.

“You’re adorable.”

They head from massive painting to massive painting around the circular room, discussing the artists’ talent but lamenting the glorification of controversial figures such as Columbus and the attempt to depict atrocities in a positive light when they pass the artistic renditions of the arrival of the Pilgrims and Pocahontas’ baptism. They eye the busts of further questionable male historical figures and pass sculptures of former presidents and notable historical figures when Leslie stops in front of a sculpture dedicated to three prominent suffragettes. She smiles and leans her head against Ben’s shoulder, wondering if there will ever be art created in memory of her and Ben’s legacy.

Hushed, excited whispering draws Leslie out of her ruminations and she sees three young girls fretting and debating on whether they should approach. Finally, one of the girls musters up enough courage for the entire group. She grabs the straps of her backpack nervously and steps forward, her friends following closely behind.

“Senator Wyatt?” The girl interrupts and crosses her feet at the ankles. It would be rather endearing, Leslie thinks, if she wasn’t suddenly hit with a wave of possessiveness. She and Ben pivot to address the three teenagers.

“Hi ladies,” he smiles and extends the hand not currently being held by Leslie, shaking each girl’s clammy palms. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, uh,” the first girl stammers. “We were wondering if we could get a picture with you. But only if you’re okay with it,” she adds hastily.

Leslie smiles goodnaturedly but eyes Ben’s reaction from the corner of her vision. She curls up tighter against his side and rests her temple against his coat. She curls her free hand around his bicep. To her disapproval, Ben expresses his enthusiasm at the idea and the girls pass a combination of cell phones and digital cameras to two retirees before joining their sides. Leslie wraps her arm around the shoulder of the shyest girl and the other two link arms beside Ben.

“Thank you,” the girls practically sing once the adults are done taking their photos. The leader of the three pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and runs her fingers down the two braids on the back of her head.

“Of course,” Ben smiles and then nods to the girl’s purple sweatshirt. “Are you guys students at Mary Washington?”

A chorus of ‘no’ rings out, then the second girl speaks up. “We’re seniors, but we’ll be attending school there in the fall.”

“Ah, of course.”

Ben smiles and the girls swoon over him, giggling helplessly as he engages in small talk about their intended course of study. Leslie notices as the shy girl, the one she’d just had her arm around, leans towards the girl in the middle and whispers something that Leslie can’t hear. On the top of the girl’s backpack is a circular button that reads ‘Blondes for Ben Wyatt’ - a rather innocuous statement of support, but Leslie’s blood runs hot nonetheless. The two girls admire her wedding ring then scan their surroundings before stepping in closer.

“Are you… you know?” The shy girl whispers. Leslie glances down at herself and notices that at some point during their conversation, her hand has unconsciously strayed to her belly, completely undermining the purpose of her loose dress.

“It’ll be our little secret now, okay?” Ben winks before squeezing Leslie’s hand. “Make sure you’re registered to vote, ladies.” He gives a polite nod and directs Leslie towards the opposite side of the room. She huffs at the faint squealing coming from the trio.

“Did you see the button?” Leslie breathes fire, much to Ben’s delight.

“Jealousy is unbecoming, babe.”

“They should also know better than to ask if someone is pregnant,” she hisses. “What if I struggle with infertility or miscarriages? Or if I wasn’t pregnant? And why did you  _ tell  _ them?”

“They were just young and excited, that’s all.” He smiles apologetically as they stare at the painting of an American general accepting the surrender of one of Lord Cornwallis’s officers. He considers making a joke about her raging hormones but decides against it, choosing instead to lower his voice. “It’s kind of a turn on though, seeing you so possessive like that.”

“I am the original blonde for Ben Wyatt,” she huffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t forget that.”

“That you are,” Ben laughs and rubs between her shoulders. Leslie directs her attention towards the white horse in the center of the painting in an effort to soothe herself.

\- - -

SEPTEMBER 2018

The horse offers her no such comfort this time around.

She feels paralyzed, unable to move until Shepherd’s hand comes to rest gently between her shoulder blades and directs her forward as they walk side by side. Rosalyn turns and sets off for a corridor to the left of where they’re standing. Leslie stares downward as they walk and she grimaces when her eyes land on the red bottoms of Rosalyn’s expensive choice in footwear.

They step through an archway adorned with a wooden plaque that reads  _ Speaker of the House Rosalyn M. Spaulding _ in gold lettering before pushing through into Rosalyn’s office. Leslie shifts uncomfortably as she considers the clandestine encounters that have surely unfolded within the confines of the massive walls. One of the frames on the wall contains a photo of a presumably wasted Rosalyn sandwiched between a man and a woman. In the photo she pulls the man’s tie over her shoulder as her red lips playfully bite the laughing woman’s jaw, a similar red mark also present at the corner of the man’s mouth.

“Fun night,” Rosalyn says simply and leans back against the desk in the back of the room. “Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of playing across the aisle.”

Leslie turns back to the frame and recognizes the man as a former democratic Representative and the woman as one of the republican members of the Senate.

“But I doubt that you caused a scene and embarrassed yourself just to voice your distaste for me.” She leans back and reaches for the top drawer of her desk and retrieves a white envelope bearing Mrs. Benjamin Wyatt at the top of the stationary. “After all, a strongly worded letter is more your style. I still have it from the first time you told me just how little you care for me. I wish I could tell you that it hurt my feelings, but I’ve been told that I’m not supposed to lie to you anymore.”

Leslie bristles at Rosalyn’s cool tone then steels herself. “I saved your skin, Rosalyn. I’ve got CIA officers trying to meet with me at a moment’s notice trying to ask me what I know about your last meeting with Ben because neither of you were bright enough to remember that the Oval Office is wiretapped to the nines and I sat there and said I knew nothing,” she seethes.

Rosalyn’s aloof persona falls. “You did what?!” 

“I’m saving my husband’s goddamn legacy!” Leslie screeches.

“You’re fighting a lost fight,” Rosalyn says and crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s only a matter of time until they find the tape.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?!”

“Ma’am, what tape?” Shepherd turns to Leslie and asks gently.

“Oh, cut the ‘ma’am’ shit, Samuel,” Rosalyn barks. “I know you’ve been inside of her.” Shepherd glowers and looks at Leslie, who looks about ready to explode.

“I don’t give a damn what happens to you,” Leslie says, her voice pure vitriol. “But I'm not going to let your carelessness bring the rest of us down with you - so you better get your damn story straight.”

Rosalyn purses her lips, her attitude back in full force. “Little miss Rarity doesn’t have her Romeo anymore…” She nods towards Shepherd. “That’s what they called you guys, isn’t it? Cry me a river. You’re not the only one who lost something that night, sweetheart.”

Shepherd twitches involuntarily at the nickname before turning to Leslie once more. “Leslie, what tape?” He asks desperately.

“I think you know exactly what tape, sunshine,” Rosalyn says, her red lips settling in a smirk and turning to Leslie. “You let me know which way to vote, Majority Whip.” 

“It’d be Minority,” Leslie grumbles. “I want nothing to do with your party.”

“Listen, dear,” Rosalyn sighs and holds her hand up, cutting Leslie’s tirade off before she can utter a word. “I had no role in the President’s assassination. You figure out how to stop that tape from leaking and I’ll tell you my suspicions based on everything Ben’s told me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more thanks to niseag for beta reading for me, I love you and I like you ♥
> 
> Again, nothing about the real figures in this is real, purely a work of fiction.
> 
> (And please listen to Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N' Roses and Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard if you've never done so before, I had a lot of fun writing the rooftop scene while listening to them.)

JULY 2016 - PHILADELPHIA

The convention center is alive with anticipation as the Democratic National Committee prepares to announce the winner of the presidential nomination. With the delegates having cast their votes hours ago, the only thing that Ben and Leslie can think of doing in the meantime while the votes are being tallied is making small talk with other prominent and upcoming democrats in national politics. Every one of them talks of Ben’s lead among the delegates, insisting that the voting was simply a formality and that he would receive the nomination shortly when an official-looking figure approaches them in one of the intimate concrete rooms.

“Senator and Mrs. Wyatt?” The figure asks and they turn to shake his hand. “I’m Matthew Bolt, director of the United States Secret Service. If you have some time, I’d like to introduce you to your personal protection.”

Ben and Leslie turn to each other, their expressions equal parts confusion and excitement as they follow the director down narrow, winding hallways towards the back of the convention’s stage where seven other men stand in matching uniforms.

“I’d appreciate it if you kept this introduction between all of us. Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to do this until after you’ve officially received the nomination.” The director winks and turns to the first man in the lineup. “This is Agent Samuel Shepherd,” the director says as Ben and Leslie each shake the man’s hand.

He’s just an inch or two taller than Ben, Leslie notes, but she can’t help but feel like he’s towering over him even with her wearing heels. His hands are softer than she expects of a man - much less one with such a physically rigorous occupation - and she doesn’t notice her wrist going limp in the handshake until he casts a befuddled look at their conjunction. He drops her hand and it appears to be the end of it all, but Leslie can’t shake the feeling that his eyes are trailing her every move.

“And this is Agent Jeremy Flynn. He’ll also be assigned to you, Mrs. Wyatt.”

They repeat the niceties with Ben’s assignments - Agents Prince, Moore, Collins, Hewitt, and Nelson, to name a few - and Leslie’s hand trembles more intensely with each subsequent handshake when the reality of just how serious the campaign is becoming resonates with her. Somehow the conglomeration of well dressed men makes everything feel more real than before and she’s overcome with concern regarding her and Ben’s safety, especially as he’s gearing up to address the entirety of the Democratic National Convention to accept the presidential nomination.

“Have you ever had personal protection before?” The director asks and Leslie shakes her head no. “It can be a bit unnerving at first. We’ll start everyone with the minimum level of protection and as the election draws nearer we’ll increase surveillance as necessary. Think of it like a trial run for the presidency, if you will. It can be odd suddenly having someone’s eyes on you constantly but rest assured, these are some of the finest individuals that we have to offer.”

Leslie nods her understanding and tries to hide her growing anxiety. Ben is whisked away by a group of DNC officials in preparation for the acceptance speech and he leaves her with a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder before being trailed by his new entourage of bodyguards with Flynn and the director bowing out not long after that. Leslie sighs shakily.

“You okay?”

The soft featured man steps just a tad closer to her and she nods her head after considering his presence and deeming it nonthreatening. He stands with his hands joined at the forefingers and clasped in front of his belt.

“Yeah, I just… Everything suddenly feels very real.”

The man takes another step towards her and another and another until they’re standing side by side. “Ah,” he acknowledges simply. “Another case of pre-nomination jitters. I think we see it every four years without fail.”

Leslie examines his posture. “Why are you standing like that?”

“I have a gun in my pants, ma’am.”

She laughs nervously and notices uneasily that his expression doesn’t waver from its honest yet benign expression. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Hands poised for the draw if necessary. But between you and me, it won’t be necessary,” he adds hastily upon seeing her expression grow pale. “Not at this point in the campaign, at least.”

Leslie eyes the side of the stage apprehensively. “Why does he have so many?”

“Agents? He’s the candidate. Comes with the territory I suppose.” He shrugs and turns to her with a smile. “That’s not to say that you’re not of importance in regards to protection… just considerably less so at this point. Your son will also gain assignments in the next few weeks. For now Flynn and I are meant to be with you when you’re expected to be around a crowd of people but that’ll steadily become more strict the closer we get to November. You’ll be sick of me by then, I promise.”

“No, I won’t be sick of you,” she mumbles. The stranger’s gone out of his way to talk away every invasive thought permeating her mind and she’s taken aback by just how well practiced he seems to be in comforting people. “How long have you been an agent for?”

“Longer than I care to admit,” he laughs and runs one of his hands through his hair. It’s just long enough for Leslie to watch as his knuckles get lost beneath the greying waves of amber - but not so long that he defies grooming mandates set by the agency. “Sometimes I wonder if I threw away a perfectly good life by choosing the career I chose.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs and his lips draw into a half-smile that demands her sympathy. “It’s rewarding, don’t get me wrong. But there’s got to be more to life than just working, right?”

Leslie turns back to the monitor displaying the stage and she watches as the speaker announces Ben. “It’s Shepherd, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” he affirms while shoving his hands into his pockets. “But most people just call me Shep. It’s the nature of this city. Everyone gets a nickname or call sign of some sort.”

Leslie nods her understanding. “Do you like it? The nickname, I mean.”

“I don’t think it really matters if I like it,” Shepherd grins. “I think that’s how nicknames work.”

“But do you?”

“I don’t mind it,” he shrugs. “There are worse things to be called.”

“So that’s a no,” Leslie laughs.

“No, it’s not a no.”

“It’s as good as a no.”

He tilts his head towards her as if she’s being ridiculous. “I don’t mind it. Really.”

Leslie turns her attention back to Ben talking on the stage. From the wings she can already discern the massive crowd full of delegates that no doubt are currently on the edge of their seats, hanging on Ben’s every word as he drags on and on about continuing the progress that the Obama administration has laid the groundwork for and the promise of a bright and better future for the youth of the nation, no matter their background or family history. She notices how he pauses between each impassioned statement of presidential promises so that the delegates can cheer and applaud - an occurrence that she knows both emboldens him and overwhelms him as he attempts to not lose his train of thought, as he attempts to not move on to the next topic of interest. The monitor with a close up of his face shows him blinking slowly and Leslie clutches her sides nervously as if trying to siphon some of the anxiety that she can tell is threatening to derail his entire acceptance speech.

“Is it true that the candidates get codenames?” She finally asks, trying to take her mind off of what’s unfolding before her.

“From the Secret Service?” Shepherd asks and scrunches his face. “Of course. They haven’t told you yours yet?”

Leslie shakes her head no with a newfound interest.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “The Senator’s is Romeo because I mean, come on, look at him out there. They’re eating from the palm of his hand. Politicians are charismatic, but then there’s him.”

Leslie feels her insides warm as she turns her attention back to the monitor and sees Ben’s index finger tapping rhythmically on the podium. “Would you believe me if I told you that he’s terrified right now?”

“Absolutely not,” Shep huffs in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

Leslie laughs and points to the screen. “Look at his eyes. It’s like he’s trying to blink away the stress of public speaking. He does it every time. He says he hates speaking without me but I don’t think that I really calm him all that much when I’m up there because then he worries about my nerves.” They watch wordlessly as Ben’s hands shift from the top of the podium to grip the sides until his knuckles turn white. Leslie turns to Shepherd again. “And what about mine?”

“Yours is - well, they have to match. The first letters and everything. They always match the spouse’s.”

“Mhmm,” Leslie hums.

“Yours is uh,” Leslie watches as his eyes shift away from hers before he shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “Yours is Rarity.”

“Huh,” Leslie vocalizes and mulls the name over in her head as if trying it on for size. She thinks that it doesn’t suit her in the slightest. “Why Rarity?”

The agent shifts uncomfortably and directs his attention to the laces of his dress shoes as they reflect the dim light of the backstage. “Well, a rarity is something unusual or uncommon. I mean to make it simple, it’s something that’s rare. And well…” Shepherd looks at her again and shrugs. Ben starts talking about family and the importance of protecting loved ones from harm and the agent nods towards the curtain before saying gently, “I think you’re about to miss your cue.”

\- - -

Leslie turns from the bar and sets off towards the wall leading to the stairs. Sometime after the events at the DNC had wrapped up, they’d been dragged to the roof of their hotel for an impromptu afterparty complete with access to the pool and bar courtesy of a twenty one year old intern working for Ben’s campaign whose father owned the hotel chain. The rooftop speaker system blares 80s rock and Leslie mentally hums along to Guns N’ Roses as she pushes through the gathering of campaign staffers, delegates, and Ben’s Senate colleagues in pursuit of the lone man currently leaning along the wall beside the rooftop access door.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you!” She shouts over the music and extends a flute of champagne out for him. He politely declines. “Not your style?” Leslie laughs and gestures towards the rooftop bar. She turns to glance at Ben who’s currently sipping his own bubbling alcohol in the company of his campaign advisors. “Come on, we’re buying. Pick your poison.”

Shepherd considers her offer and ponders the substance with which he truly wants to warm his insides, but he figures that the short bubbly woman standing before him isn’t on the sommelier’s list. He shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. I’m on the clock right now.” His green eyes scan their surroundings so that he doesn’t have to see her disappointed expression. “And I’m trying to avoid things that are no good for me.”

“Well it’s a standing invitation, Shep,” she says kindly while backing away from him.

“That’s very thoughtful -- wait.” His eyes slant at the nickname and Leslie raises her glass in salute. He chortles, “Stay generous, Rarity.”

Leslie winks and turns on her heel, retreating towards the dark corner where her husband awaits. Shepherd sighs wistfully as she slips comfortably into Ben’s embrace and watches how her curls bounce and fall carelessly over her shoulder as she laughs at her husband drunkenly professing her as his sweet love in time with Axl Rose’s crooning before pulling her into a kiss. And how cruel it is, Shepherd laments, for someone to be in their presence and believe wholeheartedly that Ben is the more admirable of the two when Leslie is so effortlessly beautiful and endearing without even being aware of it. He wonders enviously if the senator is conscious of just how fortunate he is to have snagged her when the splashing of pool water against his trousers pulls him from his coveting.

“Sorry!” Some wasted twenty something year old girls shout and scream as young men - their boyfriends, presumably - cannonball in after them as the sound system erupts with a massive guitar riff followed by Axl repeatedly asking for directions. Shepherd narrowly avoids the wave of water that’s heading towards him and casts an annoyed glance at his now wet pant leg as the song ends and transitions into Def Leppard.

In the commotion, he’s lost sight of Leslie and Ben and he searches the crowd determinedly, his eyes recognizing the familiar, albeit buzzed, faces of many prominent Democratic members of Congress as they laugh and cheerily shout about shaking bottles and breaking bubbles. His eyes brush over a couple that sits at one of the reclusive umbrella tables away from the rest of the party, completely engrossed in each other as they make out in time with the music. Shepherd then realizes with horror that the couple isn’t people he can readily overlook, but instead is composed of his current assignment and her lover.

He’s resigned to watch uncomfortably - if only for the sake of keeping his job - as Leslie’s hand cups Ben’s jaw while sitting on his lap as their tongues tangle within their mouths. Ben’s hand rests on her bare knee just below where her dress falls and Shep watches it slowly inch upward under the shadow of her dress until Leslie pulls away from Ben’s kiss and laughs while throwing her head back. His fingers slip out from under her dress to Shepherd’s relief and brush lovingly against her cheek as she stands to change her position so she can straddle his waist before lowering her lips to him again.

Shep clenches his eyes shut as his stomach twists before he sets off in the direction of the bar. He taps impatiently on the bartop and the lanky man staffing it turns to him and eyes him up and down before smirking appreciatively.

“What can I pour for you, sugar?” He asks in reference to the song but Sam only grimaces.

“Scotch on the rocks, and just keep them coming.”

A flash from Ben and Leslie’s direction catches his attention and Shepherd whips his head up. The two have paused their make out session just long enough for Leslie to move to behind Ben’s chair so she could wrap her arms around his neck as their friend takes their photo, their champagne bubbling in the glasses they raise beside their flushed faces.

“Hon, you just might be the only person that’s unhappy to be here,” the bartender shouts at Sam. “What gives?”

He watches as Leslie resumes her spot on Ben’s lap. “I think I need to quit my job.”

\- - -

“How do you not remember the first time that we met?” Shepherd asks with a laugh. “That was such a pivotal moment for me.”

Leslie shrugs her shoulders with a grin. “I’m sorry! I really don’t remember it.”

They’re standing backstage a few weeks later while Ben speaks at another campaign rally in a city that Leslie is too tired to remember the name of - but she’s pretty confident that it’s somewhere on the eastern seaboard. That’s all she’s been able to feel recently, in fact, is tiredness. That, and how her feet ache in her heels and how the increasing tenderness in her boobs makes putting on a bra the most difficult task of the day for her.

“You and Ben were invited to the White House a few months ago as part of some dinner that the Obamas were putting on for Congressional democrats and I distinctly remember you coming over on your way to talk to Joe Biden so that you could introduce yourself to the Obama girls.”

“You were assigned to the Obama girls?!” Leslie gasps then scrunches her face as she stares into the distance as if trying to conjure up the memory of that night. “I’m sorry, Shep, I really don’t remember it. All I remember is that I met Joe Biden that night.” Leslie giggles furiously.

“Well even if you don’t remember it, I do. You were so kind, that’s why I remember it.”

Leslie beams at him. “Yeah?”

“You asked the girls how they were doing and then realized I was sitting there with them and you asked me as well. I sat there and told you about my day and completely fell for you.” Shepherd says nonchalantly yet in all seriousness.

“No you didn’t,” she scowls lightheartedly.

“You completely ruined blondes for me!” He laughs. “I’ve only dated brunettes and redheads ever since.”

“That’s just not true,” Leslie clutches at her sides as she delves further into hysterics. “That’s absolutely not true. I would’ve remembered meeting you if it was true.”

“It’s absolutely true!” He counters and pulls out his phone before retrieving the photos he’d texted his mother that night. “I had the biggest crush on you for the longest time after that.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I think it lasted all of… thirty six seconds because then I realized you were married.” His insides flare as she snorts and stumbles, nearly crashing into him as he barely manages to grab hold of her arm in time. “It took me forever to get over you. One of those heartbreaks that completely devastates you. I didn’t date anyone after that for a whole week. And granted I worked six of those seven days that week, but it was still a week.”

Leslie shakes her head and swats his chest with the back of her hand. “Now I really know that you’re messing with me.” They stand side by side and watch as Ben addresses the crowd of supporters, his eyes blinking considerably less so than when they were in Pennsylvania and Leslie breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

Shepherd eyes her as she stares at the monitor, her gaze never breaking from Ben’s eyes on the screen. Her hands clasped in front of her, she teeters in what he decides is an adorable manifestation of nervousness. “Of course. Anything, Rarity.”

“I haven’t told anyone this yet. You’ll be the first.” She glances over at him momentarily then lovingly turns her attention back to Ben’s image. “I think I’m pregnant.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t so much as attempt to fake a smile for her. Not that it would particularly matter, anyway, because she stares infatuated at her husband’s image. He tries to find his voice and hopes that it won’t betray the way he truly feels - because it really would be a shame if this news was met with anything less than the reaction that Leslie expects.

“What are you feeling?” He asks timidly. She turns back to him with a smile and his heart sinks.

“Excited, I think. A little anxious. But mostly I just feel so much love already.” Leslie titters and spins her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb - a habit that Ben’s scolded her for countless times, but he willingly replaces the diamonds without protest each time she manages to knock one loose as the result of her fiddling. “I haven’t taken a test yet so I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up if I’m not. But it feels like it. I feel like I did when I was first pregnant with Aiden.”

“Congratulations to you two,” he ultimately is able to cheerfully profess, but his mind wanders to the not one, but  _ two  _ occasions that Leslie would’ve been tangled in bedsheets with another man to have wound up in this predicament. He tries to put the thought from his mind as the crowd roars when Ben walks off the stage and makes a beeline for Leslie before they walk off the stage hand in hand.

\- - -

SEPTEMBER 2018 - WASHINGTON DC

Shepherd’s hand rests on Leslie’s bare knee as they ride back from the Capitol building, her temple resting against his shoulder as she trembles. She’s so close and yet a million miles away as her tears fall without a sound in the backseat of the car. He stares out the window at the rain - the downpour that hasn’t relented since the news broke from Michigan - and he wonders if God (if there truly is a God) is doing it on purpose, if the weather is supposed to be reflective of a nation in mourning. At the very least, it mirrors the brokenhearted woman that he loves so dearly.

“I didn’t think he’d be there,” Leslie finally mumbles as she stares out the window at the headlights and the taillights and the other assortments of colored lights that characterize night drives in Washington. A young couple huddles together with strangers under an awning to avoid the falling water at one of the storefronts lining the street, and Leslie’s inclined to imagine herself and Ben in the same situation just for the sake of feeling something. “I completely forgot he’d be there.”

He doesn’t have anything to say that will ease her pain, so he just squeezes her leg.

She ambles on with him under the protection of the umbrella for the brief walk from the car to the interior of the White House as cameras with telephoto lenses flash furiously from behind the fences that surround the massive structure and she turns her face away lest someone capture a photo of her misery to share with the world. She realizes that she’s been a symbol of Ben’s civil service for so long without having much of a say in the matter and - she decides in a moment of rash judgment - that she’s tired of it. She won’t allow the American people to turn her into a symbol of their grief. Not when they didn’t truly know her husband. Not when they don’t really have anything to mourn. Not like she does, at least.

She kicks her heels off as she walks as soon as she strides through the door, uncharacteristically leaving them behind for someone else to tidy up as she races towards the stairs. Shepherd kneels down to collect them in his hand as he follows closely behind her until Charlotte approaches them once they make it to the landing of the second floor.

“Ma’am,” she sighs. “I’ve been trying all night to put her to bed but Sasha is inconsolable. She keeps asking for your husband.”

Leslie pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head to dismiss the woman before turning to the left end of the hallway, the baby’s screams growing louder with each step she and Shepherd take. The contents of Sasha’s crib lay strewn on the floor all over the dimly lit room and she stands at the railing of the crib, screaming furiously as she tries to shake off the blanket that’s tangled around her leg. Her mother lifts her from her captivity and tears the blanket off, dropping it to the floor and adding it to the mess of the room.

She shakes and bounces and rocks and hushes the little girl but the toddler continues to wail and progresses further into her tantrum when it becomes clear that Ben is not coming to her rescue. Her tiny hands ball into fists that she beats against Leslie’s chest as her legs kick against Leslie’s already aching belly and she winces before tearfully holding Sasha away from her body.

“I can’t do it!” She shouts as her frustration skyrockets. “I can’t bring him back! Okay?! Do you hear me, Sasha?!”

Shepherd grabs Sasha from Leslie’s grasp and she collapses into the rocking chair with sobs.

“I can’t bring him back,” she repeats over and over and over and over.

“Miss Sasha,” Shep coos sympathetically and strokes her back as she flails against him. “You miss your daddy, huh?” He motions to Leslie and shouts over the screaming, “Go get his cologne from the bathroom!”

Her head snaps up. “What?”

“Go get his cologne!”

“No,” she mumbles as her hands start shaking. “I can’t do that. I can’t go in there.”

“What, are you afraid that he’s going to jump out at you?!” He shouts and instantly regrets it. He sets Sasha back in her crib as Leslie stumbles out of the nursery to walk to the opposite end of the massive house before stopping in front of the closed master bedroom to wedge himself between Leslie and the door. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I’ll get it.”

He disappears behind the white door and continues through the dark bedroom in pursuit of the adjoining bathroom, pausing only to turn on the light. Leslie stares through the cracked door and notes that, to her relief, nothing has changed since the last time she and Ben were in there together. The massive yellow curtains remain open, the pillows remain perfectly fluffed, and two lone pens remain in the same forgotten spot where Ben left them before crawling into bed with her at her request. The room remains exactly as she remembers it as the result of her forbidding anyone - even her son - from entering. The only person she’s allowed to desecrate the purity of the room has been Shepherd - and it’s only because she’d been too afraid to do so herself.

She takes an apprehensive step into the room followed by another and another after that until she stands firmly in front of the furniture assembled around the room’s fireplace. She views each dark photo in its frame, observing yet not truly looking at the assortment of photos of her and Ben and their two children before she crosses the room to run her hands along his side of their bed. She considers sitting on it for the briefest of moments but decides against it, choosing instead to curl her legs underneath herself as she sits on the floor before she pulls open his nightstand drawer to admire its contents.

She flips through the book he’d been reading - some autobiographical account of the pacific theater in World War II that he’d only read to the second chapter - before setting it back in its place. She unscrews the lid of his hand cream and collects some of the product on the pads of her fingers before sniffing it, smiling at the memories it unlocks of him lathering it into his palms before kissing her goodnight. She massages the lotion into her own skin before securing the lid and replacing the container, resting her chin on the edge of the wooden drawer and smiling at the semi-hidden contents at the back of the drawer, the objects that make her skin flush at the memories of their uses.

A small blue cardboard box pokes out at her, the corners of the square plastic packages enticing her to ruin the integrity of the drawer further as she pulls a square from the box and runs her thumb mindlessly around the rolled latex’s circumference. She isn’t sure why he kept the box, as the expiration date on the back of the package falls years before they even considered having a second child - and even further before their move into the White House. She figures it's yet another thing she’ll never get to ask him about.

The bathroom light flicks off behind her and she hears Shepherd’s shoes on the carpet. She folds her fingers around the unopened condom and slowly slides the drawer shut, prompting Shep to flinch.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “I didn’t realize you were in here.”

Leslie stands and flips the package over in her hands before dropping it in her dress pocket and walking towards Shepherd until he practically towers over her. “It looks like I’m not the only one that’s afraid of ghosts,” she says deftly.

He can’t place her tone and the darkness of the room isn’t much help in allowing him to determine her feelings, and his investigative efforts are cut short by the sound of her retreating from him. Leslie grimaces as she reenters Sasha’s bedroom as the toddler’s cries pierce her ears. In the glow of the night light, Leslie can see her begging to be lifted from the crib, but she stands frozen and unable to appease her child. Shepherd pushes the glass fragrance bottle into Leslie’s hands before gathering Sasha in his arms.

“Spray her blanket!” He calls as Sasha screams into his shirt.

Leslie leans towards him and cranes his neck in an effort to hear him. “What?!”

He dips down and tosses the blanket that’d previously been stuck on Sasha’s leg at Leslie before making a spraying motion with his free arm. “Spray her blanket!”

She hesitates for a beat as recognition of what he said sets in and she spritzes the fabric with two sprays of Ben’s cologne before tossing it back to Shepherd. He catches it smoothly and wraps it around Sasha’s convulsing body and waits for the scent to flood her senses, anticipating a tranquilizing effect. She stills and lifts her head in the direction of the blanket before eagerly clutching it in her small hands with a final whimper.

“There we go,” Shepherd coos and pulls the fabric over her head to create a hood. She buries her exhausted face against his neck as he rubs circles along her back - a tactic that he knows also works to soothe her mother. He runs a hand down her dark blonde hair with a sigh. “I don’t know how much longer you can keep it from her, Leslie.”

She falls once more into the rocking chair in the corner of the room. “How do you explain death to an eighteen month old?”

Shepherd just looks at her. “What are you going to do about the tape?”

Leslie shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders. She has absolutely no idea what she’s going to do. She sprays the inside of her wrist with Ben’s cologne and closes her eyes as she leans her head back and pushes against the floor in hopes that an idea will come to her.

“What tape is it, Les?” He asks softly. Her eyes open ever so slightly before closing again.

“Which one do you think?” She asks sardonically. “I could ask them to remove it. I’ll tell them exactly what’s on the tape but I’ll just change the names,” she suggests and Shepherd whirls around to face her incredulously.

“Do you hear yourself?!” He screeches through a restrained whisper on account of finally calming the little girl in his arms. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?! That’s perjury!”

“It’s not perjury if they never made me take an oath,” Leslie hisses, but Shep’s reproachful expression doesn’t falter.

“They won’t give it to you,” he says decisively. “Every recording they find from that office is going to be submitted as evidence as they prepare to launch a criminal investigation. Every conversation he ever had in the Oval Office is going to be submitted for consideration. Every heated exchange he’s ever had with someone over difference in policy is going to flag people as suspects.”

She sighs. She supposes that there was always the option of trying to delete it herself, but she risks making everything worse if she decides to go that route. “That is exactly why I need to get rid of it.”

“You don’t think Rosalyn had a hand in it?!”

“Of course I think she’s involved somehow!” Leslie bites back. “But convicting someone doesn’t bring my husband back. It doesn’t bring my children’s father back. But I know that what’s on that tape will ruin him if it gets out.”

She watches as Sasha’s fingers curl lazily around the lapel of Shepherd’s jacket and he rests his temple against the top of her small, round head and Leslie’s eyes well up again at the ever present reminders of what she - of what everyone - has lost, both known and unknown. And Shepherd, bless him, can try his best to soothe her, can try his best to soothe her children - but he’ll never be a husband and he’ll never be a father.

_ At least not with her. _

A single tear rolls down her face.

“I wish I could lessen your pain,” he murmurs when Leslie clutches at her stomach.

“You can. Physically, at least.”

“More painkillers?” Shepherd asks skeptically before his expression sobers. “I’m worried that you’re trying to hurt yourself, Les.”

She shakes her head no and flattens her palm. “I’ve been cramping all day. Ever since last night, actually. And I don’t know if you saw it but she landed a pretty good kick somewhere in there earlier.”

“Yeah,” he muses. He offers Sasha to Leslie and she declines, instead motioning that he should put her in her bed. “Your period doesn’t ever come this early,” Shep thinks aloud. Leslie stares mindlessly at the wall as her vision supposedly fixates on a cartoon depiction of a giraffe on the wall above Sasha’s crib before swallowing thickly.

“Yeah… stress, I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that Ben's reading is a lovely fic here on AO3 by niseag called Lost Company - go give it a read!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> niseag, I love you so much - thank you for beta reading and for listening to me ramble about this fic nearly 24/7!!
> 
> This chapter goes heavy on the backstory.

_ Leslie’s fingers curl around a glass beer bottle as she takes in the reunion of her friends and coworkers at the 2015 observance of the annual Pawnee parks and recreation department spring cookout. Their children play happily on the nearby playground, paying no attention to the merriment of their parents as they chase each other around and on the equipment - a sight that nearly makes Ben’s work related absence bearable. It’s not quite enough to make her forget his inability to attend, but almost. _

_ Ann’s phone pings from the table and her face comes to life upon reading the notification, announcing to everyone in attendance that Senator Ben Wyatt from Indiana has officially declared his presidential candidacy from the outside steps of his office in Indianapolis. _

_ “You didn’t tell us that he was running for president!” Ann admonishes cheerfully before wrapping her arms around Leslie’s waist. She feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her at the news headline, however, and feels herself leaning away from her best friend’s embrace. _

_ “Can’t believe I’m saying this Knope, but I will grudgingly be voting for a liberal hack for president this time around,” Ron says not unkindly as the corner of his lip curls upward while raising his own beverage in a toast. “Though I take it that you’re going to be changing your name, right?” _

_ Leslie’s face contorts. “I’m sorry?” _

_ “You’ll have to change your last name, Leslie,” Ron says with earnest. “If Ben so much as wants the chance of appealing to conservative voters, you’re going to have to change your name. It’s not a dealbreaker for someone like me but if he wants to be taken seriously on that side of the aisle your name isn’t going to be lending him any favors.” _

_ Leslie clenches her eyes shut. She can’t do this right now. She can’t even consider the notion when she herself learned of her husband’s candidacy at the same time as the rest of the nation. And who is he to decide this for them without consulting her, to demand that she shed one of the only things that remains uniquely hers, that she replace her father’s name with his own for the sake of his professional desires? She feels sick, she feels dizzy, and Ann’s hands flock to her shoulders to steady her. _

_ “Are you okay?” _

_ “I think I’m a bad wife,” Leslie mutters before turning to her. “I don’t want him to win, Ann.” _

_ The grass blurs and the earth spins until it’s dark and she finds herself in Ben’s lap as they fool around in their hotel room, coming down off the high of the events of the DNC and the afterparty. Leslie makes to search through the unorganized contents of her purse for a condom when Ben stops her. _

_ “Ben, we’re about to have sex,” she giggles. _

_ “I know.” _

_ “I’m not on birth control.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “So we need to use protection if we don’t want to end up accidentally making a baby.” _

_ There’s something in the way he holds her, something earnest in the way his hands rest against her back, barely noticeable and yet demanding her complete attention as he gazes reverently at her like she’s the moon on a starless night. He can’t say anything to her, not when she straddles his lap while looking so goddamn perfect, with her smeared lipstick and the smudged mascara on her eyelid and her disheveled hair, the champagne flushing her cheeks and eliciting the giggle that he adores much more frequently than when she’s sober. So he just sits there, looking at her, saying nothing and yet everything all at once. _

_ “Ben?” Leslie grins and cups the most steady vision of his head with her hands as the room - and his other two faces - begin to spin. _

_ “It’s not such a crazy idea, is it?” He whispers. “The first one is pretty damn perfect.” _

_ “When did you decide that you want to have a second baby?” She asks, but her voice doesn’t sound like her own, instead it sounds too distant and muffled, as if underwater. _

_ “Every time I look at Aiden. Every time he scrunches his nose like you do or runs to hug me when I get home. Just every day, really.” _

_ She sighs because of course, having a baby would lead to this. She wonders if he could hold the entirety of the world in his hands and ever feel that he was satisfied - if he could finally be at peace. “Was the nomination not enough?” _

_ “It is, I promise. I’m just so happy right now. And I love our life together, but it just feels like our family isn’t complete yet; like we’re missing one final, beautiful piece of the puzzle.” _

_ She really should know better by now than to give him emotional leverage against her and she really shouldn’t be surprised at how easily smooth talking comes to him, but the remark is charged with so much love and emotion that it takes her by surprise and almost makes her forget about her anxiety regarding having a second child. _

_ “You could be president in six months, honey. Are you sure you want to have the stress of a new baby on top of that?” _

_ “I could lose,” he says solemnly as if the thought’s been weighing on him heavily ever since the nomination was announced. Because, truthfully, it was a possibility. “And preparing for a baby doesn’t sound like a bad way to mend that wound.” _

_ “You’re not going to lose.” Leslie sighs and pushes her purse off of the bed. “It’s hard to get pregnant after forty,” she whispers with a somber smile while smoothing his hair with her fingers. “It might not happen.” _

_ “But what if it does?” _

_ And when a dreamy smile plays at his lips as he pulls her closer and she feels it again, the same enormous, inescapable magnetic force that surrounded him on the night that they first met, that’s when she knows that she’s done for. She feels herself being pulled in by his charm and she could fight it if she truly wanted to, but really - other than making for hot verbal foreplay - what’s the use? Why expend the energy when she already knows that he’ll work his magic and she’ll cave and they’ll spend the rest of the night trying to bring his - no,  _ their _ \- hopes into fruition? _

_ So she chooses to undo his tie instead of voicing her concerns, she’ll put the moment neatly away in her mind, situating it among the other occurrences of putting his wants before hers, and she’ll cling to him as the room spins and July gives way to November. _

_ “... and rest assured, the Wyatt administration will work to represent  _ all  _ Americans as they pursue the American dream,” President-elect Benjamin Wyatt says as he balances their four year old son on his hip at the podium while Leslie looks out at the crowd. “The _ four of us  _ are so humbled and excited to be your First Family. God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America. Good night!” _

_ Red, white, and blue balloons fall from the ceiling and Aiden reaches one of his exhausted hands (it was way past his bedtime, Leslie protested, but Ben stressed the importance of the entire family appearing for the victory speech) out in an effort to grab one as Ben places his hand at the small of her back, pulling her near to kiss her temple as the realization of what he’d just said dawns upon the attendees, rippling through the crowd with audible gasps and applause. And as the camera shutters fire away from the press seating section at the front of the stage, she can visualize the headlines announcing both his victory and their impending arrival - a baby girl, they’d recently learned, much to Ben’s delight. _

_ And once more, she makes the mistake of looking towards the flashing cameras - something she still hasn’t grown accustomed to - and she wonders if she ever will become desensitized to their presence as she tries to blink away the white light that obstructs her vision. Aiden squeezes the balloon that he’s managed to catch with vigor until it pops in his arms and Leslie whips her head in his direction and tries to blink away the remaining blurriness. _

_ But her son’s nowhere to be found now and when the fog clears completely from her eyes all she sees is red. The red that inches across the white collar of Ben’s shirt, the red that oozes from the hole in his neck, the red that coats his fingertips when he tries to make sense of what just happened. She reaches out to cover the wound with her fingers, to do anything in her power to stop the bleeding when another balloon pops and the underside of her arm burns with the sting of something scorching having made contact with it. _

_ Someone screams her name from over her shoulder and they’re snatched from the stage and she tries to resist the stronghold around her waist as she screams out for her husband, her bloodied fingers landing on the cufflinks of her captor. _

_ “Leslie!” She hears Shepherd scream in her ear as he resists her efforts to slip out of his grasp so she can chase after her sputtering husband. _

_ “He needs me! Let me be with him!” She sobs and kicks but his hold on her only tightens, suffocating her as she repeats her demands to be let go. Through her tears she manages to angle her body just enough to dig her elbow into his ribcage. _

“Fuck!” Shepherd yelps and his arms fall from her sides as he hisses in pain.

The room comes into view, the same bedroom with its blue curtains and the bedside lamp that she likes to fixate on when she’s staving off sleep lest Ben haunt her dreams, and Leslie realizes what just happened, what she just did. It’s September once again, her kids are safe and asleep in their bedrooms, and their father’s cold, lifeless body lies in the Capitol building while her own is being warmed by someone else, someone that’s not him, she recalls guiltily. She bolts upright, nausea overtaking her as she tries her best not to be sick on the spot. Shep’s fingers rub at the tender spot on his torso and Leslie shakes violently as tears spill from her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Leslie cries at a whisper, unable to look at him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

\- - -

JANUARY 2017

“I don’t want to do it,” Leslie groans while motioning for more fabric swatches. “It’s sexist and antiquated and Ben should know better than to ask me to do it.”

“It’s tradition, though,” Ann responds before handing Leslie the assortment of fabrics across the massive table in the State Room on the first floor as their sons play quietly with an assortment of toy cars and trains on the carpet in front of the fireplace. “The wives always remodel the White House, as outdated as the tradition is.”

Leslie releases a tense sigh in an effort to blow her hair out of her face and eyes the room. The boys are joined by Charlotte, the young woman that was selected to be Aiden and the unborn baby’s live-in caretaker during the family’s tenure within the White House, who sits casually on the floor alongside them and offers her opinion on the shapes and colors of the tiny models when the children enthusiastically display each toy. Across from Ann - who had touchdowned at Dulles International that morning for emotional support at Leslie’s request - sits the interior designer and, while horribly dressed, did have an eye for interesting color schemes that Leslie likely would’ve never paired together by herself. The room’s last two occupants stand with their backs against the wall next to the door, occasionally glancing at everyone else as they engage in a casual conversation.

“Yeah but  _ why?”  _ Leslie asks while layering an opaque navy fabric swatch on top of a square of white lace. “What would possibly give him the idea that I would enjoy this even in the slightest?”

Ann scoffs and takes a sip of coffee before turning to her friend with a smirk. “You love putting parties and other events together. You can’t run from your past, Knope.”

Leslie grimaces. “It’s Wyatt now, remember?”

“That wound is still raw, huh?”

She can’t bring herself to admit aloud that the name change still rubs her the wrong way. She really should be over it by now - it’s just a name, after all - but it somehow feels dehumanizing. It feels like all of her accomplishments were stripped from her, like the last remaining piece of her father’s legacy has finally died as a result - and she figures that the thoughts are probably at least partially true, but it seems pointless to protest the change now that she’s already agreed to it for the better half of a year. 

They’re supposed to be deciding upon a curtain and floral pairing for the entryway and after much deliberation, the two women have managed to narrow the selection down to two choices. Leslie slides the navy and lace combination over to Ann.

“How about that paired with red roses?”

“It’s an option,” Ann nods.

“You don’t think it’s pretentious?”

“Not any more than roses already are,” Ann shrugs and raises the cup to her lips again. Leslie shakes her head with the ghost of a laugh and slides a second pairing over. “Boys!” Ann calls with a newfound cheeriness and Leslie turns to the children only to realize that her best friend is motioning for the two Secret Service agents to make their way over to the end of the table. She rests her chin in her palm on the tabletop and bats her eyelashes at the younger agent. “You’re guys, right?”

“Last I checked,” Flynn chortles before assuming a cavalier disposition.

“Oh, good! Then be dears and lend us your testosterone-driven perspective on these options,” Ann quips and tosses her hair over her shoulder, prompting Flynn to groan and Shepherd’s face to split into delighted grin at the trap his colleague managed to fall for hook, line, and sinker. He gesticulates wildly at both of the choices as Leslie considers the two men before she grabs the second option from the table and pushes herself from her chair.

“Ann, don’t you think this matches his eyes?” Leslie laughs while holding a sheer seafoam green fabric near Shepherd’s face before instructing him to look in Ann’s direction. She squints as she ponders the likeness and nods, deciding that the colors are similar before motioning for the swatch.

“What are you going to pair it with?” Shep asks and Leslie retakes her seat.

“You see? This is why I like him,” Ann says both to Leslie and to Flynn. “He makes a contribution without being condescending.” Flynn’s face contorts with mockery, a look that Ann imitates just as quickly.

Leslie chooses to ignore the comment but the blow to Flynn’s ego isn’t entirely unwarranted. “I’m thinking sunflowers, but I want to ask Ben’s opinion on the two before deciding on anything.”

“I like that,” Ann chimes. “It’s classy but not too in your face about it.”

Leslie turns to the men. “What about you guys?”

“I could not care less,” Flynn groans before turning to head back to his spot near the door. “I’m a man, we don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”

Shepherd remains awkwardly by her side, unaware of how to respond to his colleague’s exasperation. “For what it’s worth, ma’am,” he says softly, “I like the sunflowers.”

\- - -

“Babe!” Leslie chirps later that afternoon as Ben emerges from the Oval Office in a hurry surrounded by a posse of his personal protection agents.

“Hey you,” he smiles softly and gives her a haste kiss as they stride quickly down the hallway.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she laments - and though it has only been a few days since the inauguration, the sentiment still rings true, at least on her end. “Do you have a second? Ann and I went over some fabric choices for the curtains with that interior designer like you asked me to. We narrowed the choices down and I wanted to ask your opinion on them.”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t.”

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” Leslie pleads and begins to open the folder in her hand but it’s no use - they’ve already arrived at the driveway where a car waits to whisk Ben off to his next meeting.

“I’m sorry, Leslie. I don’t have the time. Just choose whatever you want.” He plants a kiss to her forehead before taking his spot in the backseat of the car without so much as a parting glance, leaving her alone and dejected outside of the West Wing.

\- - -

It’s late when Leslie’s awoken by the bed covers being peeled back and a body climbing into it. She hears the man sigh and drop his watch on the nightstand before she rolls over, causing him to grimace.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” Ben whispers.

“Just a little,” Leslie smiles softly before glancing over his shoulder at the red glow of the alarm clock. “I only fell asleep about an hour ago.”

There’s a silence. A silence that’s long enough for her husband to make his displeasure evident, but not long enough for Leslie to feel that her infraction has truly upset him - a testament to how well they’ve gotten to know each other since getting married on a whim all those years ago. He places his palm on her swollen belly and is promptly received with a fluttering kick from the current occupant, causing him to smile.

“Baby girl’s making it hard to sleep?”

“No, I tried to stay up because I wanted to see you,” Leslie yawns.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he chastises gently. “You’re growing a tiny human, you need to sleep.”

Leslie adds with another yawn, “I know, I know. It’s just the only time I really see you nowadays. It’s the only time I get you all to myself. And she doesn’t feel tiny - I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“I know, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about earlier,” Ben sighs and Leslie shifts her weight so he can spoon her. “I had a meeting with some people that I’m too tired to remember. I think it was a governor.” He winces. “It might have been a school group. Did you decide on a fabric choice?”

She snuggles into his warm chest. “Yeah, we’re going to go with green.”

“That’ll be nice,” he murmurs into her hair, breathing in deeply in response to smelling the floral scent of her shampoo.

They lay there, silently enjoying each other’s presence and listening to the other’s breathing patterns.

“You know that we’re eventually going to have to decide on a name, right?” Leslie asks while staring out at the starless sky. “You can’t run away from me on that one. I’m not choosing her name alone.”

“I know. Soon, I promise. I just need to get through this first month, that’s all.”

“Is it actually going to get better, Ben? Do you really think that things will slow down? Because I love you, and I know that this is what you wanted, but I really miss you.”

But Ben doesn’t respond - instead, his arm around her goes slack and his breathing grows shallow as he finally succumbs to his exhaustion.

\- - -

“Just a little bit higher,” Leslie instructs Shepherd from her seat at the table as he stands on a ladder to affix a garland of hearts to the wall. With the rest of the room adorned in red, pink, and white decorations, the walls are the only portion of the room to remain untouched by the Valentine’s Day festivities. Shepherd finishes adjusting the first strand to her liking and climbs down to retrieve the next strand.

“I know that you’re seven months pregnant and all, but I don’t think that prevents you from helping me,” he laughs while tearing into the plastic packaging.

“Nope, just the climbing part. But it’s more fun this way.”

“More fun for who?”

“Me,” she shrugs with a grin. “Besides, it’s just that last one in your hands and then we’re done.”

“What made you want to put on a Valentine’s Day party anyway?”

Leslie watches as he climbs back up the rungs to slip one of the ends of string on the hook before moving the ladder to the other side of the room. In just a few moments, mothers and the children in Aiden’s preschool class would be arriving for an afternoon of games and sweets for the children and mixed spirits for the adults - those of whom that were not currently adding to their families, like herself.

“Parties are fun and they make people happy,” Leslie replies as he loops the tail end of the garland around the other hook and climbs down. “It’s why I really got into it in the first place - because it makes people happy, I mean. My dad died when I was young and I would just pour myself into planning parties as an escape because if I wasn’t feeling festive, then at least other people were. And I remember the first Christmas after we lost him, I surprised my mom by decorating the entire house when she was at work and she smiled - truly smiled - for the first time since he’d died.”

Shepherd turns his attention to the mess of plastic packages on the table and gathers them in his hands. “That must’ve been hard for her. Your mom sounds nice.”

“She is,” Leslie smiles and runs her hand along the top of her belly. “She mourned my dad for a long time after he passed, though. I think she still carries that grief with her, she just hides it better. But I think I get it now. I don’t even want to imagine anything ever happening with…” she trails off before shaking her head and running through a brief version of the grounding exercise she’d been taught a few years ago by a psychiatrist. “Shep, what’s your mom like?”

“My mom?” He sighs and shoves the packaging in the pocket of his pants. “She’s a character. I love her, don’t get me wrong, but she can be a bit much, sometimes.”

“That’s true for everyone’s mother, though,” Leslie smiles, grateful for the distraction from her racing thoughts.

“True, but the woman’s name is Natasha - a perfectly good name that stems from her Russian heritage, right?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong.” Shepherd cocks his head in amusement. “From as long as I can remember, she’s insisted that people call her Sasha instead. Still Russian in origin and it sounds similar, but she argues that it doesn’t make her seem nearly as old.”

“She has a point there,” Leslie grins.

“What point?!”

“Natasha is an old lady name.”

“The woman’s hair is completely grey! They stopped carding her twenty years ago!” He laughs.

“I’m just saying that she’s not wrong!” Leslie smirks. “Sasha is pretty and youthful but Natasha-”

“Makes it sound as if she was born in the 1950s? Good, because she was!” They laugh and he extends his hand to her and helps her to her feet. “Your guests should be arriving soon.”

\- - -

APRIL 2017 - MARYLAND

“Why’d you want to come out to Catoctin Mountain?” Shepherd asks Leslie as they start the hike up one of the west side trails in the early morning hours with Charlotte and Aiden. She has a tiny, three week old Sasha strapped to her chest and her dirty hair thrown into a ponytail at the base of her head and she wears a blue baseball cap so as to hide her oily roots, but he can’t help and find Leslie’s sleep deprived, make up-less state incredibly endearing.

“I used to be the deputy director of a parks and rec department back in Indiana,” she says sheepishly. “Before marriage. Before having children. I guess I always thought that I’d be working for the Department of the Interior some day. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

She breathes in deeply as they walk through a parting in the canopy of the deciduous trees. The crisp air somehow feels more breathable than the air in Washington despite only being an hour’s drive north, brimming with life and the promises of new beginnings that accompany the Spring season. When Leslie reflects on her current circumstances, she realizes just how many changes have occurred over the last four months - Ben’s new job, their new living accommodations, the new baby, and - Aiden’s personal favorite - the golden retriever puppy that the family had selected to be the First Dog, currently excitedly sniffing each patch of grass on the trail while walking alongside his trainer.

“Why didn’t you?” He asks sincerely and she turns her attention to Aiden and Sasha, as if the answer should be obvious, and her smile expresses all the love in the world for her two tiny humans - but if he looks closely, he swears that he sees the hint of long repressed heartache in her eyes at having to give up her dreams for the sake of Ben’s aspirations and their family. He changes the subject. “Did you live in Indiana your whole life?”

“Yep,” she smiles and smooths her hand over the back of Sasha’s head. “I was raised in the greatest town in the world. What about you? What led you to the Secret Service? A life full of excitement and adventure, I imagine.”

He chuckles. “The opposite, actually. I grew up in a tiny town in Michigan near East Lansing and my mom’s side of the family is Catholic. The most excitement I had growing up was not having to go to Mass on Sunday.”

“I didn’t realize you were Catholic,” Leslie responds chirpily and he shrugs - because it’s not like it really made much of a difference.

“Yep. I went to some sort of Catholic private school from kindergarten all the way through college.”

“So I take it you didn’t end up going to Michigan State, then?”

“Nope. It was Notre Dame or pay my own way, courtesy of mom and dad,” he smiles before saying unenthusiastically, “go Fighting Irish.”

“That’s crazy,” she beams. “You were in Indiana when I was. Because you’re what, two years older than me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So your family’s pretty devout and you went to a Catholic university,” Leslie shakes her head in teasing disapproval. “Do you still practice?”

“Nah,” he shrugs again. “Truthfully, I don’t know if I ever believed in any of it. I just sat there and memorized prayers to keep in the nuns’ good graces all while wondering how a supposedly all loving God could let there be so much pain and suffering in the universe. I kept my head down at Notre Dame and got my degree then packed everything up and moved to Washington.”

“Why the Secret Service?”

“I don’t know. As a kid it always seemed like an out. I just wanted to get out of the midwest. I was tired of seeing cornfields everywhere I went and I knew that I didn’t want to work in the dying automotive industry.” He flips down the aviators that rest on his forehead. “And I look good in sunglasses.”

Leslie chuckles and hugs Sasha through the fabric of the sling before sighing contentedly. “Do you want kids, Shep?”

The question catches him off guard and it truly shouldn’t be that invasive of a question - and perhaps under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be - but it seems as if she’s asking out of genuine curiosity rather than an effort to make small talk or to boast about her children’s developmental milestones, so he answers honestly. That, yes, he does in fact want children someday, and that more than anything, he wants to meet someone nice and fall in love and settle down before raising some babies and living happily ever after. So when she asks him to promise her something, he finds that he can’t agree to anything just conditionally and chooses instead to grant her whatever she may ask of him.

“Promise me that you will raise your kids in the midwest,” she pleads. “Washington is so big and the weather is horrible and the people can be cruel, and just promise me that you will give your kids the childhood that I can’t give to mine. Let them run barefoot through the neighbors’ cornfields on summer nights and let them go sledding down the massive hill in the town’s best park when it snows, and take them to fall festivals and spring flings and raise them to say pop instead of soda.” She smiles wistfully in Aiden’s direction as the little boy picks up a rock in his hand before presenting it to Charlotte. “I always thought I was going to raise my kids in Pawnee. And when I met Ben I figured that would change to Indianapolis given his position as a senator, but Indianapolis is still in Indiana. I didn’t think we would actually see Washington - not for a long, long time, at least.”

He doesn’t know what to say in response to her palpable yearning for the familiarity of her small town and mourning of all of her hopes and wishes for her life, so instead he just nods and kicks a pebble down the trail until it rolls off into the brush, never to be found again.

\- - -

_ Leslie doesn’t recognize her surroundings nor any of the hundreds of people that crowd the small ballroom of the conference. She elbows her way through the throng of people but no one reacts to her presence, something that both calms and unnerves her as she fights her way towards the bar. Everything feels so familiar yet she cannot remember traveling to Philadelphia, much less ever standing in this room. She whips her head around in search of one - just one - friendly face but is unsuccessful. She thinks it’s summer judging from the way all the women are dressed in sleeveless dresses, but she can’t be sure when her world is spinning and shaking with each step she takes. _

_ Finally, she makes it out of the mass of people with a crash against the floor, but no one seems to notice nor offer her any help. From her spot on the floor, Leslie’s eyes land on her husband standing alone at the bar and she smiles before pushing herself up to stride over to him. _

_ But she finds that she can’t touch him. Her arms refuse to obey her and she can’t grab his hand like she so desperately wants to and she can’t wedge herself in the empty spot next to him as he waits for his drink, so she stands behind him instead. _

_ “Ben!” She calls happily, but he looks right past her then groans at something over Leslie’s shoulder. _

_ “Congratulations, Mr. President,” a woman says from behind Leslie, but she doesn’t need to turn around to recognize who it belongs to, not when the venom-laced, voluptuous voice is so easily placeable. _

_ “What do you want, Rosalyn?” Ben asks dryly as the dark haired woman slides effortlessly into the space that Leslie’s body could not enter earlier, just barely missing Leslie yet paying her no attention. _

_ “I just wanted to congratulate you, new baby and all,” she shrugs. “I think you’ll find that I’m not an entirely bad person. It’s just politics, Benji.” _

_ Ben rolls his eyes and downs half of his drink with a grimace before leaning against the barstool, shifting his weight so that one of his knees bends as he rests his foot on one of the stool’s rungs. “Don’t call me that.” _

_ A beat passes as Ben sips at his whisky and Rosalyn analyzes him, her eyes squinting as she considers his cold, closed off demeanor. “You were right, though. There is something I want.” She places her hand on the outside of his knee and draws small, slow circles against the fabric of his trousers with her thumb, which Leslie realizes with a sinking feeling is painted the same shade of deep red as her lips. _

_ “I have a wife, Rosalyn,” Ben croaks after swallowing. “And two amazing kids. I’m not-” _

_ “Oh, save me the love story, Romeo. I don’t want to sleep with you,” she rolls her eyes but Leslie notices her tilt her jaw ever so slightly in his direction, her thumb still trailing mindlessly. “It’s just politics. A little reciprocal altruism.” _

_ Ben casts a glance over his shoulder then turns to her with a sigh. “What do you want?” _

_ “There’s a children’s charity close to my heart - don’t scoff, I have one - in Baltimore that’s in desperate need of funding. You’re the most powerful man in the world right now. I take it that you don’t need my help to figure out the rest.” _

_ “So I endorse their mission. Then what?” _

_ “I’ll make sure the next piece of legislature that you introduce to the House isn’t obstructed.” _

_ “Any bill?” _

_ “Any.” _

_ He grows quiet as he considers her proposition. “It’s too easy. What’s the catch? Why do you want this so badly?” _

_ “My brother and I spent some time in the system after the state seized custody from our parents,” she says coolly. _

_ Ben’s eyebrow arches. “I could introduce a bill that increases access to abortion, you know that right? Staunch, pro-life Speaker of the House Rosalyn Spaulding is going to vote against what remains of her morals?” _

_ “You’ve got it all wrong, dear. I don’t care about conservative politics. Hell, I don’t believe in hardly any of the bills I vote in favor of. Maryland is a state rife with white evangelicals that hardly know their left hand from their right. So long as I appease the base, I really can do whatever I want while in DC.” _

_ Ben fishes his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and fiddles with his phone, tapping the screen before turning it around to show her the tweet he’s drafted to direct his twitter followers to the charity’s website. She gives his knee a squeeze. _

_ “Thanks, dear,” Rosalyn calls over her shoulder before sauntering away, her hips swinging as the hem of her dress swishes against the floor. _

_ Suddenly Leslie recognizes exactly which night tonight is - the night that Ben facetimed her from his hotel room after the conference, stumbling over and slurring the words as he continuously professed his love for her before falling asleep while still on the call with her. She watches as he eyes Rosalyn’s retreating figure and Leslie is increasingly aware of the lust emanating from her husband, unexpectedly cognizant to his mental slipstream that includes thoughts of wanting to instill some respect and humility within Rosalyn by means that should be reserved for Leslie and Leslie alone. Then, just as quickly, the lust is replaced by an overwhelming sensation of disgust and shame for his desires. _

_ He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp and Leslie calls his name again, this time more desperately, but, again, he doesn’t acknowledge her as he makes his way towards the room’s exit, putting Rosalyn out of his mind as best as he can. _

Leslie jolts awake, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. A bead of sweat drips down her face from her hairline and she flings the covers back before launching herself out of bed with Shepherd coming to life with a jump that rivals her own. 

“What?!” He asks frantically, scurrying to his feet and pulling on his clothes. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to find that tape,” Leslie says as she flings her robe over her shoulders and bolts out of the bedroom.

“Leslie, wait!” Shep calls after her while trying to do his tie but she doesn’t slow for him, choosing instead to take the stairs two at a time in pursuit of her laptop on the third floor. “You can’t delete it! That’s tampering with evidence!” He hisses when they enter her personal office.

“I’m not going to delete it, I just need to find it,” she barks back after having flung herself into the chair and authenticating herself.

She scrolls through countless audio files from various rooms in the West Wing, searching and searching the database for the recordings from last summer.

“Sweetheart,” Shepherd protests with his hands on his hips.

“Shh,” she shushes him as her eyes narrow in on a tape from seven in the evening, the nineteenth of August, two thousand seventeen. She highlights it with her mouse. “There.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one you've been so patiently waiting for...

MAY 2017

The screen of Ben’s cell phone awakens as the body vibrates against the ancient wood of the Resolute Desk. He smiles at the name of the incoming caller and picks the phone up to raise it to his ear.

“What’s a gorgeous woman like you doing calling me so late on a weeknight?” He asks cheerily. “Your husband leave you alone?”

“He did,” the feminine voice answers just as playfully. “Benjamin, did you know that there’s a naked woman in your bed right now?”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? Well, why don’t the two of you get started and I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Very cute,” she replies but her tone shifts from its playful cadence to something more somber. “You’re still working?”

“I’m wrapping up. I promise.” He scowls at a legal pad that sits before him on the desk. He really hadn’t managed to accomplish much today despite his best intentions. Ben flings the papers across the room and they land on the floor with a thump.

“Good,” the voice on the other end of the line replies before a mechanical buzzing comes spilling through the microphone. “It’d be such a shame if you missed out on this experience. Especially when you could’ve had a front row seat to it.”

It’s not until she gasps that Ben realizes what’s happening on the other side of the telephone and a hot spike of desire makes itself known right between his legs. He groans and resists grabbing himself through his pants as the mental image of the woman playing with her vibrator floods his senses.

“Are you coming?” She asks.

“Nice word choice,” Ben laughs then sighs. “I’m leaving right now. If I wait any longer they’ll find my DNA all over the underside of this damn desk.” He hears the woman’s breath hitch - whether from pleasure or from the shock of his crude statement, he’s not entirely sure.

“What about a little audience participation while I wait for your arrival?” She asks breathily.

Ben nods to the two secret service agents that await him outside of the Oval Office and sets off for the master bedroom with a brisk pace, the men following swiftly behind him. “I’m not against it, but I have to admit, ma’am, that I’m a bit unfamiliar with it since it’s been a few weeks. You’ll have to walk me through the procedure.”

The woman giggles coquettishly before changing the vibration pattern. “I think it starts with a bit of nipple stimulation,” she says followed by a sharp inhale.

He clutches the phone tighter to his ear. “It’s a viable option for the beginnings of our negotiations.”

“For our negotiations?” She drawls. “Mr. President, are you insinuating that I would try to seduce you for my own political interests?”

“I don’t believe it’s a stretch considering your past attempts using that tactic.”

“Were they attempts if I was successful?”

“No, I suppose not,” Ben chuckles. “I regret to inform you that flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Oh yeah?” She questions. The sound of the vibrating grows fainter as it presumably becomes situated between her legs. “How many times will I have to call you by your title until you make me scream?”

“Well, that depends on how receptive you are to an agreement that will be mutually beneficial for both parties.”

“Very receptive, Mr. President,” she moans. “I’m spread as wide as I can manage.”

Ben bites down on his lip, the two agents trailing him being the only thing that prevents him from releasing a groan from deep within his chest. The corridors leading from the West Wing to the main interior of the White House had all passed in a blur and now the only thing that stands between Ben and his conquest is the flights of stairs that separate the first and second floors.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” he chuckles before preparing to hang up the phone. “Don’t you dare start without me.”

A man that Ben barely recognizes stands at the foot of the stairs dressed in a white dress shirt that compliments the thin black tie that hangs around his neck. His own agents seem to recognize the man, however, as they nod to him before attempting to follow Ben up the stairs. He turns suddenly on his heel and instructs the men to stand next to the solo agent they’ve encountered.

“Why don’t you guys hang out down here for a bit?” Ben suggests with a wink. “The First Lady’s got an itch that needs scratching.”

Ben’s agents nod with a knowing smirk and watch as he bounds up the stairs and chooses to take the last flight two at a time. They sigh and lean against the wall next to the lone agent before they unbutton their overcoats, seeming to sense their colleague’s distress.

“What gives, Shep?”

He turns to them, his face pale and his eyes looking a thousand miles into the distance. “I just realized what’s about to happen up there.”

The two men snicker and the second man laughs. “Six weeks to the day. You owe me fifty bucks, Prince.” The agent groans and fishes out his wallet before slapping a wad of cash into the other man’s open hand.

Shepherd’s eyebrows knit together. “Six weeks?”

The men laugh before the Prince rolls his eyes, clearly not enthused with having lost the bet. “Rarity just got her clearance.”

“Her clearance?”

“Jesus, Nelson, when you said he was raised Catholic I didn’t realize that you meant  _ Catholic  _ Catholic,” Prince guffaws.

“What clearance?” Shep prods once more.

“After giving birth it’s recommended that you don’t fuck for six weeks after,” Agent Nelson explains crudely. “I bet ol’ Windsor here that it’d be exactly six weeks after their kid was born. And here we are, forty two days later.”

The conversation wanes briefly as Shepherd tries not to empty the contents of his stomach on Nelson and Prince’s shoes. His tie suddenly feels too tightly done and he pulls at the knot in an attempt to loosen it, but his sweaty, shaky palms barely manage to find the knot.

“God, can you image six weeks without sex?” Prince later groans as Nelson shakes his head. “Not that it’s such a wild concept for you, bead mumbler.”

Shepherd rolls his eyes. “I’m not a virgin, blockhead.”

“Yeah?” The second man laughs. “You saw a lot of action at Notre Dame?”

“They’re Catholics, not prudes,” he scoffs. “And no, those two are  _ not _ the same thing.”

“When’s the last time that you got some, man?” Prince pesters him good-naturedly. Shepherd doesn’t respond. Instead, he shifts his gaze away and asks them to change the subject. “God, I’ve never seen someone walk down that colonnade as fast as Romeo just did.”

“Six weeks, dude,” Nelson sneers. “Six weeks. He’s going to blow her damn back out.” Ben’s two assignments laugh amongst themselves.

“Flynn’s going to have to wheel her around everywhere because she won’t be able to walk.”

Shepherd’s back scrapes against the wall as he slides into a sitting position with a groan. The men stop their badgering suddenly as they observe their friend resting his elbows against his bent knees and leaning his forehead against his crossed arms in an effort to quell the discomfort in his stomach. He breathes deeply and steadily, but he makes no effort to stand back up.

“Sorry, Sam,” Prince says earnestly before sighing. Besides having taken the joking too far, though, there really wasn’t anything they could’ve done differently to lift their colleague’s spirits. “How long?” He finally asks.

“Forever,” Shep mumbles. “Day one. This whole time.”

A beat passes. “Have you considered asking for reassignment?”

“No,” he replies hastily, perhaps too quickly. He collects himself. “No. I don’t want that. I’m fine, I’ve got it under control.”

The men share an apprehensive glance before it’s Nelson’s turn to sigh with disapproval. “It might seem that way to you but we all know, Shep. For Christ’s sake, you’re on the ground at the idea of them together. You’re flirting with job loss.”

“I’ve got it under control!” He snaps his head up angrily. “I just don’t want to hear vulgar jokes about them together, okay?!” He rubs his temples and whimpers at the pressure applied by his fingers. “Everyone knows?”

“Everyone except Ben and Leslie.”

Shepherd shakes his head, his heart full of sorrow. “Keep it that way."

* * *

“Shit,” Ben curses when he realizes what day it is.

It isn’t like him to so easily forget a significant holiday or anniversary - and while he isn’t a person that particularly cares for the observance of Hallmark holidays, he isn’t a fool. He knows the significance of the second Sunday in May.

“Jack,” Ben motions to the Chief of Staff that sits in one of the couches across from the Resolute Desk.

He closes the binder of foreign policy that he’s reading after leaving yet another brightly colored sticky note on a page for Ben to reference at a later time. If he had to guess, he’s probably already left at least fifty tabs in the first few pages. “Yeah?”

“Your wife,” Ben says as nonchalantly as possible. “She doesn’t think Mother’s Day is a big deal, does she?”

The older man seems perplexed for a moment then begins to guffaw at the question once he realizes what’s prompted the president’s sudden interest in his personal life. “No, she doesn’t.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay... That’s good to know.”

“Because we don’t have children.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jack responds while trying to hide his smirk behind the back of his hand. “You’re going to be in the doghouse tonight.”

“Hey, is Jack short for jackass?” Ben quips but he can’t stay frustrated for long when the very real threat of not having a Mother’s Day present for Leslie looms over his head. He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. Two of his agents - Prince and Nelson - stare apprehensively at him as he ponders how to go about rectifying his mistake. Suddenly it dawns on him. “There’s not any chance you can get Flynn down here, is there?” He asks in the men’s direction.

They eye each other before Agent Nelson speaks up. “He’s off of work for two weeks, Mr. President.”

“Damn,” Ben mumbles. “What about the other one?”

The agents once again eye each other as if silently debating how good of an idea it is before Prince reluctantly reaches for his phone. He switches the device into speaker mode and places it on the top of the desk before the other line is connected.

“Sheldon!” Ben exclaims cheerily before reaching for the phone. Unbeknownst to him, the two agents wince at the name flub. “It’s Ben. Ben Wyatt.”

“Sheldon?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

The line is quiet before the recipient sighs. “It’s Shepherd.”

“Oh… my bad, man. Listen, I have a favor to ask of you. It’s Mother’s Day and I usually don’t forget these kinds of things but with work and the new baby and everything else that’s going on, it completely slipped my mind but I don’t want Leslie to be disappointed. Would you mind picking something out for her for me? Anything at all.”

The agents share an unsure glance with each other before inviting the Chief of Staff in on their discomfort at the proposal. Evidently, word had gotten around to everyone of a certain man’s infatuation with the First Lady. Everyone except Ben, apparently.

“Sure,” Shepherd finally agrees, albeit unenthusiastically.

“Great! Thank you. And listen, anything at all, okay? I mean it. Just make it something she’ll like.”

“Of course.”

“And not a word to her about it. It’ll be our secret,” Ben says while digging through his wallet before handing a piece of plastic to the young redhead woman that serves as his personal assistant. “I’ll send Mallory with my card.”

“Can’t wait,” Shepherd replies, his voice dripping with faux enthusiasm that Ben doesn’t seem to catch.

The call disconnects and the agents shift uncomfortably in their uniforms, their eyes wandering throughout the Oval Office in pursuit of a threat that will never come. Ben hands the phone back to Agent Prince and turns back to Jack who eyes Ben suspiciously over the rim of his glasses.

Ben’s face scrunches. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jack replies and licks his finger before turning back to the binder.

* * *

Shepherd and Mallory amble out of yet another store with nothing to show for their endeavors. It’s not for lack of trying, of course, because there had been ample opportunities for the two to rack up expenses on Ben’s credit card - but none of the items that the sales representatives had tried to push down their throats was  _ the  _ Mother’s Day gift for Leslie. Not if Shepherd has any say in it, at least, and he just so happens to have all of the say.

He glances at his watch after they nod their farewells to the door greeters and he groans. In the time that it’s taken them to come up with absolutely nothing, he’s managed to lose two perfectly good hours that could’ve been spent helping Leslie prepare for the Mother’s Day event that all of the White House staff and their mothers have been invited to. His own mother is set to attend the event on his arm but despite rarely seeing her, he can’t help but be more intrigued by the prospect of spending time with Leslie’s mom. The concept sounds far more domestic to Shepherd than he knows it actually will be but it doesn’t stop his imagination and nerves from running wild.

“What about a jewelry store?” Mallory finally suggests after spending some time standing in the middle of the store’s entryway.

Shepherd turns to her and nearly sighs in frustration but just barely manages to restrain himself. It isn’t her fault that Ben lacked the foresight and consideration that a wife like Leslie more than deserved. It also isn’t her fault that finding the perfect gift for Leslie in such a limited timeframe was bound to be a taxing experience. He just wishes that she wouldn’t keep trying to get to know him beyond a professional level.

It’s not that Mallory’s not attractive, Shepherd notes albeit with a twinge of disappointment. She seems like a lovely girl, with her hazel eyes and straight smile being pluses to her sweet demeanor and intellect. But no amount of fleeting flirtatious touches will turn her into Leslie.

And admittedly, he has enjoyed their outing together save for her short venture into the lingerie section of the department store when she asked him for his opinion on a particularly forward outfit. He wasn’t sure if she was asking what he thought of it for herself or for Leslie but he wasn’t exactly dying to find out, especially if she had intended it for the latter.

He glances apprehensively in the store’s direction. “Leslie isn’t really a jewelry kind of girl.”

“We don’t have to buy anything,” she pushes, probably in an effort to remove themselves from the throng of other last minute shoppers attempting to enter the store. Pressed for options, his resolve breaks and they head for a store situated at the corner of the mall’s interior walkway.

They’re greeted by a reserved woman just a bit older than them that, based on appearances alone, could likely pass for a relative of Mallory’s. She allows them to browse what feels like endless cases of rings and bracelets and earrings as they make their way towards the glass cases containing the necklaces. Shepherd stares intently at a thin gold chain before motioning to the saleswoman and asking for two charms to be added to the chain.

He holds the necklace in both of his hands shortly thereafter, angling it specifically so that the chainlinks glimmer in the light. Once apparently satisfied with his selection, he motions for Mallory to present the credit card to the woman and they wait patiently for her to ring them up before sending them on their way once more.

They make it about halfway back through the mall before Mallory stops suddenly and pulls Shepherd aside.

“Shep, I feel like I’ve been dropping hints about it all day,” Mallory says quietly with a smile. “But I’m really attracted to you and I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. Do you think that you’d want to have dinner sometime?”

The shoe finally dropped, he thinks. Truthfully, he’s been waiting all afternoon for her to ask. “Mallory,” Shepherd croons apologetically. He hopes it doesn’t come off as condescending, but it’s enough for her to get the message. “Hey, no, I don’t mean it like that,” he adds hastily when her cheery face attempts to mask the pain of rejection.

He laughs because the whole situation really is laughable. It’s genuinely hilarious at this point that he keeps holding out for a woman that is taken and doesn’t view him as anything other than a byproduct of her husband’s ambition and her willingness to accommodate his every wish. Shepherd shakes his head in disbelief as the giggles become more forceful and uncontrolled, breaking eye contact with Mallory to stare at a fountain in the center of the walkway on the floor below them as people toss coins in. She appears a bit puzzled at his sudden hysterics but she watches him with the hints of an amused smirk playing at her lips.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says after collecting himself. “The thought of dating you isn’t funny. It’s not what made me laugh. I’m just… God, it sounds so stupid to say it out loud. And it should, because it’s stupid. I mean what self-respecting man waits for a woman he’ll never have?” He asks solemnly and stares down at the long box in his hands, fighting the urge to hurl it in the fountain.

She watches him concentrate on the box and her heart aches knowingly, suddenly realizing what has been there all along. She gives him a nudge with her elbow. “Come on. You look like you could use some ice cream.”

“I’m not really in the mood, but thank you.”

“So get something and don’t eat it. Throw it away right after.”

“Why would I do that?”

Mallory wiggles the silver credit card between her fingers. “Because Ben’s buying.”

* * *

Leslie enters the Oval Office later that evening at Ben’s request with Shepherd at her heel. He makes sure to avoid the ends of her dress as they walk, taking care to prevent damaging the fabric that just barely grazes the floor and hides the toes of her shoes. Ben glances up from the stack of papers that lay before him and he smiles at the sight of her, all dolled up and ready for a night of honoring the mothers within everyone’s lives. Leslie continues along the side of the desk and Shep stops towards the sitting area of the office, feigning a sudden interest in the stationery that sits on the end tables.

“You look absolutely incredible,” Ben beams up at her and bunches some of the flowing fabric between his fingers. He gives it an impish, imperceivable tug that amounts to nothing on account of the wide, singular strap that goes over Leslie’s right shoulder. “Damn,” Ben whispers with a wink.

She smiles and straightens his tie. “What happened to the one that matches my dress?”

“It’s right here,” he replies and points to a closed box on his desk. “I’m going to switch it right before we head out. But more importantly,” he trails off, letting his sentence hang incomplete over their heads while pulling out a thin gift box from within the desk. He pushes himself up from the chair and smiles. “This is for you. I’m sorry that I’ve been so busy today.”

Leslie beams and gently takes the long box from Ben’s hands, unsure of its contents. She thumbs the lid open with care and a thin gold chain stares back up at her, bare except for two gold charms in the shape of an A and an S that dangle in thoughtfully placed locations. The necklace’s chains roll gently under the weight of her finger as she traces it affectionately and she sighs, completely enamored with the thoughtfulness of it all. She blinks away the beginnings of tears from her eyes and turns back to Ben.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Leslie presses her lips to his jaw in a haste display of her affection, leaving traces of lipstick in her wake as she moves to embrace him. The affection seems to catch him off guard but he doesn’t falter for long before wrapping his arms around Leslie’s shoulders and rubbing her back.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he replies before mouthing his inaudible thanks to Shepherd who now stands in the corner of the room, outwardly expressing nothing but inwardly feeling everything on the emotional spectrum. He gives Ben a curt nod.

It’s not fair, Shepherd thinks coldly.

It’s not fair that Ben got to marry Leslie, that Ben got to have a family with her, that Ben got to forget Mother’s Day and take all the credit for the necklace. It’s not fair that Ben should spend his life with Leslie when he hardly pays her any attention these days, not when he - Shepherd - hangs on her every word, caters to her every whim and listens to her every concern before responding accordingly amongst the countless other behaviors and sacrifices that accompany being in love all while hiding behind the guise of professional responsibilities. It’s not fair that all he gets is overanalyzing what Leslie says and how she says it, reading in between the lines and scouring the metaphorical footnotes for any indication that she may feel that they’re more than just associates, that they’re more than just friends, only to wind up ending the day the same way he started it: alone in bed, unable to get her off his mind and yet unable to have her.

But for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t look anxious. She doesn’t appear nervous around her husband. In fact, Leslie seems to have discovered a newfound sense of confidence in his presence following the unboxing of the jewelry and she highlights this further by asking Ben to clasp the chain around her neck. Her eyelids flutter to a close as he brushes her hair to the side with care, her chest gently heaving from the force of a carefree, contented sigh.

He doesn’t have it in him to shatter Leslie by telling her the truth. So he says nothing, instead watching as she falls even more in love with the man that he knows he’ll never compare to.

* * *

It shouldn’t bother her as much as it does.

The fact that Rosalyn Spaulding is attending the White House Mother’s Day Dinner alone shouldn’t rub Leslie the wrong way, and yet she can’t seem to push the nagging voice from her mind. The voice started innocently enough, commenting on how strange it was for the Speaker to attend the event when she didn’t have a mother to accompany her. Then it grew more sinister and persistent when the voice realized that no other members of Congress had made an appearance thus far. And Leslie knew that she didn’t invite Rosalyn, leaving only one logical conclusion: Leslie’s husband invited her.

But an invitation alone wasn’t reason enough to be suspicious, Leslie tries to reason with the voice. Ben could’ve just been being polite, after all. She wasn’t privy to the details of what happens in the West Wing during business hours, nor did she have a reason to be distrustful of his behavior around other women - because, really, he practically worships the ground that she walks on. But she doesn’t like this city with its wretchedness and its ability to bring out the worst of its inhabitants and something about Rosalyn still doesn’t sit right with Leslie, even after all these years.

So when she spots Rosalyn and her husband whispering furiously towards the back corner of the room, Leslie’s interest is piqued. To anyone else, they might look as if they’re engaging in small talk like any other person in the massive dining room. But Leslie notices how Ben angles his body slightly away from hers as if looking for an escape. She also notices how Rosalyn clutches her wine glass fiercely, tilting the top of it towards her face.

One red nail points discreetly at the mysterious bruises that emerged on Ben’s knuckles sometime while he was away in Philadelphia to which he scoffs and shoves his hand in his pocket. He’d had the same reaction when Leslie had asked him about it before muttering something about accidentally hitting his hand against the side of either a table or a door frame and trying to change the subject - something that unsettled Leslie at the time. It wasn’t like him to suddenly have topics that were off limits for discussion, nor was he the type of person to withdraw from others when his emotions were taxed. But with the stress of the new baby and the grueling hours required of him as president, Leslie noticed that his patience was starting to grow shorter and shorter with each day, often resorting to taking his frustrations out on inanimate objects. She was of the mindset that he’d likely received the bruises as the result of his flaring temper.

Leslie’s just about to approach the duo when she nearly spills her glass of red wine on Shepherd’s white shirt, the dark liquid just barely staying below the rim of the glass. She curses under her breath and Shep smiles almost imperceptibly, her foul language a momentary lapse in hostess etiquette that’s just theirs to know about. The woman that clutches his arm is just a hair taller than herself, and Leslie smiles politely upon recognizing Shepherd’s green eyes and his chin upon the woman’s face.

“Leslie, dear!” Shep's mother happily greets her. She takes a rather nervous step back from Shep upon realizing just how close they’re standing, choosing to position herself where she can keep an eye on Ben and Rosalyn before the two women shake hands. “I’m so glad to finally be meeting you. Sam never stops talking about you.”

Shep’s face pales and he tries to maintain his cheery disposition. “Mom,” he says gently, trying to indicate his embarrassment to her without tipping off Leslie.

“Likewise, Mrs. Shepherd,” Leslie titters anxiously, trying to read Ben and Rosalyn’s lips from over Mrs. Shepherd’s shoulder without appearing uninterested in their current conversation.

The older woman practically scoffs but her expression remains lighthearted. “There’s no need for the formality, darling, I feel like I already know so much about you. Sammy goes on and on about how much he loves working with you.”

“Mom,” Shep says more forcefully this time.

“What?” She wonders aloud with innocence. “She fosters a good work environment. It means she’s a good boss.”

“She’s not my boss, Mom. I mean, I guess you could put it that way but she’s not my actual boss.” He turns to Leslie with a sheepish look. “What she’s getting at is that it’s nice to be assigned to an adult for a change.”

“The Obama girls were darlings, though,” his mother protests before smiling at Leslie. “I take it you don’t need any help figuring out part of why I loved them so much. Where’s your daughter?”

“With the grandmas,” Leslie replies and casts a quick glance behind her at her and Ben’s mothers. Aiden plays with a car at the dining room table while on Julia’s lap while Marlene balances a sleeping Sasha in one arm while nursing a glass of wine with all of the expertise of a seasoned mother.

Shep’s mother turns to him. “See, Sam? With the  _ grandmas. _ I’m still waiting on that title, sir.”

“It’s not for lack of want, Mom,” he sighs. “You don’t pester Jake and his fiance about having kids.” He senses Leslie’s perplexed state. “Jake’s my brother and her favorite child.”

“Jacob’s not my favorite,” she protests. “And I don’t need to pester him because they want two in two years. I’m fully expecting a baby in my arms nine months after their wedding.”

“Or what? You’ll sue for psychological damages?” Shep quips with a playful jab of his elbow. “Or will you let him off the hook because he’s your favorite child?”

She releases an exasperated sigh. “Leslie, you’re a mother. You know just as well as I do that we don’t have favorites.” Shep rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“No, really, it’s true,” Leslie starts. “I can’t pick a favorite. They’re so different from each other.”

“Thank you!” She rubs her hand along the back of her son’s jacket to quell any incoming comments from him. “He’s delusional, this one.”

Leslie’s lips curl into a sly grin, suddenly feeling significantly more playful than she was just moments prior. “Yeah, he gives me a lot of trouble. He’s always trying to make me do crazy things like getting eight hours of sleep and drinking enough water.”

“Okay, that’s not fair. It’s two against one now,” Shepherd plants his weight on his heel and crosses his arms over his chest, watching with amusement as the women that he towers over tag team bruising his ego.

“And I don’t know what your son has told you,” Leslie says with a lighthearted glare in Shep’s direction, “but my daughter’s name is purely coincidental.”

“Seemed like pretty convincing timing to me,” he shrugs with a grin and hopes that the hammering of his heart can’t be detected by either of the women standing next to him.

“Yeah, well correlation doesn’t equal causation,  _ Sammy,”  _ Leslie laughs.

Shepherd groans. “See what you’ve done? You’ve known her not even five minutes and you’ve already given her something to hold over my head.”

A voice at the table calls out Leslie’s name that she instantly recognizes as her mother’s and beckons her to come over. Leslie smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“No, go,” Mrs. Shepherd instructs her. “They’re only babies once. You’ll miss it when they’re gone.”

The Shepherds watch as Leslie retreats from them with one final fleeting glance over their shoulders before she makes her way to her children’s grandmothers. They start talking vivaciously and Julia smooths her hand over the little boy’s hair before resting her cheek against his head, to which Leslie smiles at. To Leslie’s right, Marlene beams down at Sasha who teeters on the edge of consciousness, her tiny body too tired to stay awake but also curious as to what’s occurring around her.

“I don’t think you or your brother were ever that little,” Shepherd’s mother sighs happily before giving him a prod in the side with her elbow. “When did you change your mind about having children?”

“Ow!” He feigns injury. “I’ve always wanted kids.”

“That’s not true,” she says between sips of wine. “I know for a fact that that’s not true. Who’s the girl that changed your mind?”

“There’s no girl.”

“There’s a girl,” the elder Sasha confirms. “You act like I don’t know you, like I didn’t raise you. You stand straighter, your hair’s neater, and you’ve been working out. There’s a girl.”

“You haven’t seen me in a year, Mom,” he counters airily. “Chalk it up to maturity, I guess.”

“You’re in your forties. That’s not maturity, Sammy. There’s a girl.” She smiles smugly as his resolve crumbles. “I want to meet her before I go home.”

He shrugs before agreeing to her persistent request, trying to devise a way that he could feasibly introduce his mother to the girlfriend that he doesn’t have. Maybe Mallory would be willing to do him a favor. Not that she should feel obligated to, but it would be nice to get his mother off of his back for a bit.

He allows his mind to wander as he and his mother make their way through the massive room, nodding and humming at the appropriate time as his mom drags on and on about Jake’s wedding that looms just around the corner. Shep couldn’t tell you anything that his mother said to him even if his life depended on it, for he was too intent on watching Leslie with her children, her mom, and her mother-in-law.

She’s since assumed responsibility for her tired son, who clutches the flashy gold chain around her neck sleepily in his palm as she rocks him on her hip. She looks gorgeous, he thinks, but even that’s not enough to do his feelings justice. The sight of her wearing the necklace he’d picked out specifically for her, looking as beautiful as ever and caring for her child in the process only makes his feelings grow more intense and he has to tell himself not to smile at the sight of it all. Maybe Ben taking credit for the gift isn’t the worst thing, after all. Not if it makes her so happy, at least.

“Sammy?” His mother calls, pulling him from his concentration.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said all night, have you?”

“Sure,” he replies mindlessly.

Sasha squints in disbelief at his lack of attentiveness then follows his gaze, watching as Leslie soothes her baby to sleep. She gasps then gives his arm a gentle but firm pinch through the rolled sleeves of his shirt to which he curses under his breath. He turns to her incredulously.

“What the hell?!” He hisses.

“Watch your damn language!” She scolds him, the irony of her word choice not lost on either of them. “I could ask you the same damn thing!”

“What was that for?!”

Sasha grabs her fully grown son by the elbow and drags him to a deserted corner of the room. “Absolutely not, Samuel. With God as my witness,  _ absolutely  _ not!”

“What are you getting at?!”

“She is married, Samuel! You can’t have her! This isn’t like when we told you that you couldn’t have a dog because we were going to surprise you at Christmas with a puppy.” Sasha’s chest heaves and she doubles down on her son. “You cannot have her!”

“I know that!”

“That girl is no good. You better not risk your career for her, do you understand? You’re not going to throw your life away for the chance to be with her.”

“Mom!”

“She’s going to break your heart. You stay the hell away from her.”

“You were just singing her praises a moment ago!” Shepherd scoffs.

“That was before I realized that she poses a threat to my kid,” she replies hotly. “You’re not going to make an adulterer out of her, do you hear me?” Shep stares down at his shoes, a nervous habit that he picked up during these scoldings that he never seemed to truly outgrow. “Samuel!”

“Yes! Fine! Whatever!” He taps the carpet incessantly with his big toe. He feels like a little boy again, getting admonished for lying about sneaking candy before dinner. He raises his head sheepishly and asks, “Can we leave now?”

Not too far away, Rosalyn and Ben stand side by side in a standoff that neither is willing to concede. She watches the pair of Shepherds from her spot along the wall, sipping her wine as she tries to recall the name of the woman that she’d made small talk with earlier. Her eyes settle on Marlene as she cradles Ben and Leslie’s newborn daughter when it clicks.

“Who came up with your daughter’s name?” Rosalyn finally asks before taking another sip of wine.

Ben swallows his mouthful of alcohol. “Leslie did. Why?”

“No reason… it’s interesting.”

She takes another sip of her drink, watching over the brim of the glass as the pair stop by the table to say goodbye to Leslie and her family. Leslie reaches her arm out for a hug and Rosalyn observes the agent carefully maneuvering around the sleeping child to lean into her embrace before sighing deeply as his arms loop around her waist, a telling smile forming at his lips. Rosalyn pulls out her phone to compose a text message.

_ Pretty interesting indeed,  _ Rosalyn smirks as she sends the message.

* * *

SEPTEMBER 2018

“Sweetheart,” Shep whispers as they approach a conference room in the West Wing. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Leslie rolls her eyes. “Well, then it’s a good thing you’re not invited.” She stands with her back firmly against the closed door and refuses him entry.

“Why?” He studies her face then grows angry once he realizes what she’s doing. His voice grows low. “That’s illegal!”

“Which is exactly why you’re not coming in here,” she replies. “Plausible deniability and all that.”

“Leslie!” Shepherd hisses, equal parts warning and pleading. “Don’t do this.”

She just smiles wistfully and gives his chest a gentle push in a nonverbal command for him to stand guard at the door. He sighs and shakes his head but he assumes his position just the same, waiting for her to slip behind the privacy of the closed door.

A woman sits at the conference table with her back to Leslie, smoking a cigarette that Leslie’s nostrils instantly recognize from the traces she used to detect on her husband’s clothes after long nights of debating political policy in various offices throughout the Capitol. She clutches the laptop to her chest tighter and steels herself for the incoming confrontation with Rosalyn, taking the seat at the head of the table directly to Rosalyn’s right.

Neither woman acknowledges each other. Leslie sighs, unsure of how to address the woman in front of her - the woman that was every part Ben’s equal when it came to legislation and his sworn enemy in every other aspect of his life in Washington. Leslie then lifts the screen to her laptop and clicks on the folder containing the recordings of the Oval Office, scrolling until she reaches August two thousand seventeen.

Rosalyn takes one final drag from the cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray that sits before her. “So are you actually going to tell me what we’re doing here, or are you just going to stare at me?”

Leslie looks at Rosalyn for just a moment longer and narrows her eyes. Leslie can see why people fall for her. She’s brash and that combined with her physical appearance is enough to impress any male member of Congress, especially those who hold less than stellar opinions regarding women and their competency. In a way, Leslie actually admires Rosalyn’s ability to eviscerate someone within an inch of their life while not stopping to worry about the consequences of doing so. It must be incredibly liberating.

“What?” Rosalyn asks again when she notices Leslie’s eyes focusing furiously on her Sisley coated lips. She smirks haughtily and directs a smug smooch in Leslie’s direction. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Leslie physically bites her tongue in response and scrolls towards the end of the recording. “You agreed that if I deleted the tape then you’d tell me everything that Ben told you. So here’s the tape.” She presses the play button with her mouse and leans back in the chair with a scowl.

The selected portion of the recording begins with Ben thanking members of the House of Representatives for agreeing to meet with him and Ben thanks two by name, both members that Leslie recognizes as Republican Representatives. She can hear the group of politicians retreating from wherever the microphone was positioned within the Oval Office followed by the sound of a pair of high-heeled shoes making their way towards the door before stopping abruptly.

_ “Mr. President, if you don’t mind,” Rosalyn’s voice crackles through the speaker. “I was wondering if I could pick your brain for a moment?” _

_ Ben seems taken aback but smiles uneasily before agreeing to her request. He gives a final wave to the retreating members of Congress and nods to the Secret Service agents in the hall as if to indicate that they don’t need further supervision before shutting the door behind him. When he turns around he sees that Rosalyn has already resituated herself at her previously occupied spot on the couch. Ben folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the Resolute Desk, choosing to stare at his shoes rather than prompting Rosalyn to speak - because whatever she wants to ask him about likely isn’t anything that he wants to get involved with. _

_ She finally looks up from her folded hands and smiles sweetly at him. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to ask of you.” _

_ Ben huffs as if in agreement. “You’re nothing if not consistent, Madam Speaker.” _

_ Her lip curls. “Really? We’re back to using titles?” _

_ “It’s more professional that way.” _

_ “I don’t seem to recall you worrying about professionalism the last time I asked a favor of you,” Rosalyn protests.  _

_ “That was different then.” _

_ “It’s not for me. It’s my constituents’ jobs on the line here. How was April any different than now?” _

_ “I don’t fucking know,” Ben says shortly. He’s quiet for a moment as he considers his sudden reservation. “I don’t like what you’re doing. You make me uncomfortable.” _

_ “I haven’t done anything,” Rosalyn says calmly. “We haven’t done anything.” _

There’s a pause before the audible rise and fall of Rosalyn’s high heels is heard once more. Leslie pictures Rosalyn inching near her husband, closing in on him as a predator does to its prey right before consuming it. And though he says nothing - though she has no visual to accompany the recording - Leslie knows exactly how Ben feels. Tense. Exhilarated. Longing. And scared. Scared of the prowess of this woman that’s so unashamedly bold, scared of her ruthlessness, scared of her influence in the political realm.

But what inevitably accompanies Ben’s fear of Rosalyn is his fear of himself and his lack of control over his desires, and Leslie knows that at that point he’s scared to hurt her, scared to hurt their family, and scared to hurt his reputation. She isn’t a stranger to these feelings - she went through the same vicious cycle nearly a year ago before quelling the cognitive dissonance.

_ But apparently not so scared that he would put an end to Rosalyn’s advances,  _ Leslie thinks coldly when she remembers what’s about to happen in the rest of the audio file.

_ There’s an uncomfortable silence before Rosalyn speaks again. “Innocent people don’t feel guilt, Ben. If you’re uncomfortable around me then that’s your own doing. It seems to me that you’ve been thinking about me in ways that you know that you shouldn’t.” _

_ There’s one final sound of Rosalyn’s heel against the floor followed quickly by a yelp of surprise from Ben and the rattling of a spilled pen cup against the top of the desk, presumably from Ben’s abrupt full-body reaction to Rosalyn’s hand cupping the front of his pants. She shushes him and runs her hands down the inside of his thigh before grinning salaciously at the effect she’s so obviously having on him as he begins to strain against his trousers with a pained look that truly expresses the extent of his shame. _

_ The metal clinking of his belt buckle follows not long after and she wordlessly pulls the fabric down just far enough for her to drag her fingers along his erection through his underwear, eliciting a whimper that Ben can’t suppress. She dips one of her fingers underneath the waistband of his briefs and he grabs her wrist. _

_ “Rosalyn, don’t,” Ben practically pleads. “I love my wife. I love Leslie.” _

_ “Sure,” she concedes with the same goddamn smirk on her lips. Her gorgeous, red lips, pursed in an all-knowing smirk as he refuses to make eye contact with her but also refuses to remove her hand. She’s convinced that he’ll come to his senses any moment now, that he’ll attempt to follow through with his unconvincing reminders that she imagines are more for his sake than for hers. _

_ But he doesn’t. His eyes clench shut and he removes his hand from hers without further instruction, waiting for Rosalyn to have the strength that he lacks to make a decision - any decision - on his behalf. She slips another finger beneath the elastic band to watch his reaction and Ben trembles, giving her exactly the reaction that she wants. Rosalyn hums triumphantly before sliding the second layer of fabric down, providing Ben with the ghost of a touch from her index finger and thumb after she frees him from his underwear. She rests the pads of her fingers along the warm skin of his pelvis and she drops to her knees. _

_ “They’re mining jobs,” she says in a breathy whisper, her exhale teasing his cock. “The environmental restrictions imposed by the administration is a threat to thousands of Marylanders’ livelihoods.” _

_ “Coal isn’t sustainable,” Ben groans between gritted teeth, trying to hide his waning patience. _

_ “Neither is unemployment,” Rosalyn counters as she draws nearer to Ben’s body. His breathing quickens as he realizes just how  _ badly  _ he wants to see her red lips curled around him before he tenses with remorse. “I’m not stupid. I know that clean energy is the future. It’s cheaper and has fewer health impacts and is overall the better choice in the long run. But the miners don’t see it as job transition, they see it as job loss.” _

_ “Rosalyn, please,” he begs quietly and shifts his weight uncomfortably. He so desperately wants her, wants the sensation, wants the danger of her lips around him. “What is it? What will it take?” _

_ “An eighteen month grace period,” she says firmly. _

_ “Eighteen fucking months?!” Ben hisses indignantly. “So everyone can get pissed off again at-” _

_ He’s rendered speechless at the sensation of her swiping her tongue across his tip. He clutches the Resolute Desk until his knuckles turn white. Rosalyn’s fingers slide against his skin to grip him at the base, giving him a gentle squeeze before letting go completely to Ben’s frustration. _

_ “Rosalyn,” he barks. _

_ “Eighteen months.” _

_ “Twelve.” _

_ “How about twenty four?” _

_ He chuckles sardonically and his voice grows dark. “For fuck’s sake, fine. Eighteen. Now shut the fuck up and suck me off.” _

_ With one final impish look, she presses her closed lips against his head to make him shudder. She takes just a bit of him into her mouth as she watches his expression through her heavy lashes then slides her lips down further. Ben rolls his head back with a sigh and stares down at Rosalyn, engaging in a battle of wills through eye contact alone. Her eyebrow arches. _

_ “You’re taking too long,” he complains as her lips start to slowly retreat. _

_ “Don’t rush me, Ben,” she breathes after her seal around his skin breaks. “Or I’ll make it even more agonizing.” _

_ “Someone could walk in here!” He hisses in a whisper, the scenario causing Rosalyn to bat her eyes. _

_ “We go at my pace,” she says with a tone of finality. _

_ Ben huffs in amusement and pushes Rosalyn’s dark hair over her shoulder before bunching the loose curls in his palm and clenching his fingers around the strands in an apparent shift in power. He pushes himself gently against her lips before she grants him access and feels him slide against her tongue. His hips rock forward and back in a gentle thrust as gasps spill from his lips with each pump of her hand. _

The audio from the tape stops when Rosalyn taps the spacebar on Leslie’s computer with force.

“Do we have to listen to it?” Rosalyn rolls her eyes with a groan.

“Yeah, actually, we do,” Leslie says coldly. “I want you to have to relive this moment. I want this moment to play on a loop in your mind like it has in mine for the last thirteen months.” She shoots a pointed look at Rosalyn who cowers a bit in response. It’s the first time that this woman has ever appeared small, Leslie reckons. She resumes the playback before she loses her nerve.

They sit there awkwardly, listening to the suppressed sounds of Rosalyn’s mouth being filled and thrust into while Ben groans and curses. Leslie watches the seconds tick by on the screen, noting irately that over two minutes pass by without Ben putting an end to things. If anything, he actually seems to be enjoying it.

_ “I like you so much better when you can’t run that big fucking mouth of yours,” Ben hisses and a muffled chortle rings out.  _ Leslie pictures Rosalyn on her knees, her red lips curling around his cock with a smirk as his hands tangle in her curled dark hair.  _ “You’re much easier to tolerate this way… You’re just so easy… You’re just so… Fuck, Rosalyn,” he hisses and his thrusts grow faster and harder and more sporadic as he fucks her mouth, pushing deeper and deeper until her lips press against the taut muscles of his abdomen as his load spills into her mouth. _

_ Rosalyn chortles triumphantly and sucks her way down his shaft one final time before swallowing. She watches Ben tremble and groan and curse from her position on her knees before wiping the lipstick from his skin with her hand. She examines the red smudges on her fingers and rubs the remaining wax against her bare knees before helping Ben to redo the buckle of his pants. _

_ “Fuck… shit… Oh my fucking god,” Ben pants as he wildly attempts to catch his breath as realization and shame flood his senses. “What the fuck you do?! What did you do?!” _

_ Rosalyn bats her eyelashes. “It’s just business, Ben.” _

_ “Oh my god, Leslie,” Ben wails. “Leslie… oh my god. She… She’s going to know. She’s going to find out.” _

_ “With what evidence?” Rosalyn purrs before smacking her lips. “The evidence is gone.” _

_ “I cheated on her!” Ben booms angrily. “You made me cheat on her and she’ll know what we did!” _

_ “Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,” Rosalyn hisses. “I didn't make you do anything, Ben. You could’ve put an end to things but guess what? You didn’t. You didn’t stop me. You don’t get to blame me for something that you allowed - for something you  _ enjoyed!” _ She starts to make her way towards the heavy closed doors that lead to the hallway before stopping to call over her shoulder, “pleasure doing business with you.” _

The tape is silent for a moment after the door closes behind Rosalyn then loud thumps play out through the laptop’s speakers as Ben’s fists make repeated contact with the hardwood of the desk before he can be heard trying to stifle his sobs of shame and fury over what he had allowed to happen. Leslie finally pauses the recording and glares at Rosalyn.

“Was it worth it?” Leslie finally breaks the silence with a cool and steady tone, one that she’s mastered over the years especially when addressing Ben’s behavior while in office. Rosalyn looks cluelessly at Leslie and pure vitriol courses through Leslie’s veins. “Was destroying my family worth it? Was ruining our marriage worth saving those dead end jobs?”

“Your marriage was a sham!” Rosalyn screeches. “I didn’t make your sweet Romeo do anything he hadn’t already fantasized about. And you have some nerve acting like I’m the only reason it took you two so long to get back together in the end! Maybe if you want to get back together with your husband, you shouldn’t spread your legs the moment someone shows interest in you!”

Leslie’s face pales as she tries to come up with a rebuttal but is shocked to find herself speechless. Lacking a comeback, she rolls her eyes before folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah,” Rosalyn huffs maliciously. “I thought so. You know, at least Ben had the decency to leave me. When were you planning on dropping your boy toy,  _ sweetheart?  _ Does he know about the pact that you and Ben made to leave your affairs? Or are you just going to pretend like you didn’t fuck your husband six weeks ago?”

Leslie feels her stomach churn before another cramp makes itself known. She crosses her legs and tries to will the pain away with minimal success. “I didn’t get around to it.”

“How convenient,” she coos with faux sympathy.

“That’s not why we’re here,” Leslie bites back. “You said you’d tell me what you knew about who wanted my husband dead if I made the tape disappear. Well, here it is,” Leslie highlights the recording with her mouse and spins the laptop around so Rosalyn can see before pressing the delete key on her keyboard. The screen flashes a small pop up to indicate the progress of the erasure before closing itself, all traces of the audio file eliminated. “Now talk.”

Rosalyn’s quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable before her lips spread into a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Wyatt. But may I offer my sincerest gratitude to you for taking care of that little issue for me?”

Leslie’s throat threatens to close in on itself and she feels herself struggling to breathe as the room starts to spin. “W-what? What do you mean? What the hell do you mean?!”

Rosalyn pushes herself up from the table and gives Leslie a pompous shrug. “I don’t have a lead. Never did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the tape... thoughts? Is it what you thought it would be? Let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was starting to become very, very long so consider this Paris part 1 :)
> 
> Again much thanks to niseag for beta reading for me!

SEPTEMBER 2018

Shepherd rounds the corner at a pace that is half-walk, half-sprint, in desperate need of locating Leslie. To say that he is freaking out would be an understatement. He was just coming off of a brief shift change when a CIA officer that works under Director Russell sought him out and requested their immediate joint presence. He’s so distracted by the possibilities of what prompted the meeting that he nearly knocks Leslie over when they cross paths in the hallway. He grabs her by the elbow and pulls her after him once he regains his composure.

“What the hell?!” Leslie screeches.

“No time to explain,” he pants. “Shift’s over, Flynn! I’ve got it from here.”

The other agent’s face scrunches in confusion as he watches the two retreat back down the hallway and towards the West Wing. Leslie spends the walk trying to wrench herself from Shepherd’s grasp to no avail before he grows tired of her insolence and pushes her gently against the wall, using his knee to pin her down.

“Samuel!” She hisses indignantly.

“Russell wants to see us. Immediately.”

Realization dawns on Leslie’s face and she grows serious. “Did he say why?”

Shep diverts his gaze. “No. But I imagine it’s not for anything good.”

His mind starts racing a mile a minute once more. It could be anything, at this point. The director could just be wishing to follow up on his initial interview with Leslie or he could be wanting to inform her of a new development in the investigation. But the officer’s unreadable facial expression combined with the request that they  _ both  _ make an appearance doesn’t sit well with him. That tiny addendum leads Shepherd to believe that the meeting will be more of an interrogation rather than an interview - and it scares him shitless.

“I’m not going to let you take the fall for me if it’s about the tape,” Leslie whispers once she’s finally out from underneath his weight.

“I-”

“No, I’m serious. I know that you have some sort of savior complex but you can’t fix everything for me!” Her frustration begins to rise. “There are some things that you just cannot fix, okay?” Her dead husband being the first thing that comes to mind.

“I was going to say that I didn’t plan on it,” he says after a beat, and something shifts between them. Some unspoken understanding of his unyielding devotion to her snaps and Leslie’s suddenly aware of just how drastically everything between them has changed. She’s no longer the only one in control of their relationship and the realization catches her off guard.

“Oh.”

They’re quiet for a moment as they look uncomfortably at each other until Leslie nods at Shep to indicate that they should continue their doomed trek towards the room that undoubtedly contains a very displeased CIA director.

Leslie stops in front of the closed conference room door and turns unsteadily to Shepherd who gives her his best attempt at a reassuring smile despite his own anxieties, their earlier tension all but forgotten. With a shaky exhale, Leslie pushes the door open and takes a seat at the end of the long side of the table directly across from the director, exactly as she’d done a few days before. She smiles at Russell as Shepherd takes a seat at the head of the table between the two of them and notes with a sinking feeling that the director doesn’t smile back. Shepherd folds his hand on top of the conference table and Leslie desperately needs something to ground her to reality and calm her nerves, so she slides her foot towards Shep until the back of her heel rests atop his ankle.

The director sighs and turns to the female officer to his right. “I’m going to be very blunt, Mrs. Wyatt. And I expect an honest answer from you. Are we understood?”

Leslie nods and feels her heart rate quicken and her respiration increase. She tells herself to breathe mindfully, that nothing too terrible can come from this, that it’s simply the CIA fishing for more insight to use in the investigation. She’s not in trouble, she tells herself, his poor mood is just because he’s stressed.

“We’re doing everything in our power to determine who was behind the President’s assassination,” he begins and Leslie watches as the woman navigates between folders on her government issued laptop. “In our search of the archive containing audio recordings from the Oval Office we stumbled across something that gives us pause.”

He rests his weight on his elbows upon the table, cocking his head ever so slightly as his eyes narrow as he scrutinizes Leslie’s reaction. It takes every ounce of willpower for Leslie to not cower in response or shift uncomfortably. Instead, she tilts her chin defiantly as if to challenge his preconceived assertations.

“I’m not sure that I’m following,” she lies.

The director raises an eyebrow in appreciation of her mental prowess before tucking his hands under his chin. “What can you tell me about the evening of May twenty-fifth, two thousand seventeen?”

She nearly breaks when she realizes that they’re not going to interrogate her about the missing tape. Not just yet, at least. “It was a week and a half after Mother’s Day,” Leslie responds dryly.

“Cute. But that’s not what I meant. And you know that.”

Leslie leans back in her chair and crosses her arm over her chest, allowing the memory of the night in question to come flooding back to her. Truthfully, she knew exactly what happened that night. If she were to pinpoint the most important moments that led to the near destruction of her marriage, that night would be the first of many.

_ It’s well into the evening hours when Ben finally looks up from the document that he’s reading. He blinks rapidly at the pages that sit before him on the desk and watches as the letters on the papers go blurry before coming back into focus. He really hadn’t anticipated the ill effects of aging to catch up with him so soon, but he figures that the overwhelming doses of stress and long, sleepless nights are to blame for the premature bouts of presbyopia. _

_ He reaches into the top right drawer of the Resolute Desk, the permanent home of extra pens and an obscene amount of candy that he likes to keep around for moments like these. They’re little pieces of joy that remind him to pause and breathe every now and then (as well as earning him the title of World’s Greatest Dad when his son visits the Oval Office) and Ben kicks off from the ground to make the desk chair spin in a circle. _

_ Ben sticks his foot out to gently catch himself on the desk and stop the rotation of the chair before turning his attention to the muted news broadcast on the TV that’s mounted to the wall. A CNN anchor reports with a mischievous half-smile as if the headline that she’s breaking brings her immense amusement. Ben doesn’t see anything on the screen that could provide context as to what she’s so entertained by so he reaches for the remote to appease his rising curiosity. _

_ The broadcast only lingers on the woman’s face for just a few more seconds before transitioning to a sequence of images that takes him completely by surprise. He watches as a sequence of photos of his wife and one of her Secret Service agents - the very one that he’d enlisted to pick out a Mother’s Day present for Leslie just last week - cycles on the screen. The photos all seem rather innocuous. There are some of them attending events that she’s made appearances at and others that were taken as he accompanied her in public, either on their routine hikes or on the sidewalk as they grabbed lunch while touring a new city. _

_ He listens as the anchor explains Shepherd’s connection to Leslie, describing him as one of her primary agents before finally divulging what’s made her so giddy. She goes on to share that an unnamed Washington insider informed the press of what they believe to be a secret affair between the First Lady and her Secret Service agent as a photo of Leslie delicately caressing Shepherd’s arm appears on the screen. _

_ Ben scowls at the idea of the two of them being together. There was no way. Then the doubt starts to sink in. Leslie  _ had  _ been spending a great deal of time with Shepherd as of late. And was it really so outrageous to believe that she could develop feelings for someone else when he himself had caught his mind wandering in dangerous territory more and more frequently these days? No, his growing attraction to Rosalyn isn’t something that he is particularly proud of, but he won’t do anything with her. He won’t risk his future - both personal and professional - for something as trivial as a biological response that he can keep under control. _

_ The photo only fuels his contempt, however. How did he not notice the way she was behaving around Shepherd, especially when he was at the Mother’s Day dinner that the image was taken at? He can feel his temperature rising as rage begins to pump through his veins and he’s aware that he’s steadily losing control of his temper and his emotions, but it’s  _ her,  _ for god‘s sake. It’s the idea of her, his wife - whom he loves and cherishes more than anything else in the world - with another man that causes him so much distress.  _

_ He inches closer and closer to the edge of a breakdown the longer he allows himself to think about it and all of the signs that he’s seemingly missed, only half aware of his surroundings when a male voice on the TV captures his attention. The photos are now gone and have been replaced with the initial anchor and her male cohost, who grins smugly before suggesting that Ben and Leslie’s daughter might be illegitimate given her physical appearance. _

_ And that’s the moment that all hell breaks loose for Ben. Because with her dark blonde hair and green eyes, his daughter  _ doesn’t  _ look like him. She looks like Shepherd. _

_ Ben clutches the remote tightly in his hand while fighting the urge to scream. He hurls the plastic device at the wall in a fit of rage and it smacks against the wall before clattering to the ground, the small removable backing and batteries falling out upon impact. The act only provides him with a fleeting sense of relief, however, and he paces the office furiously in an effort to prevent any further destruction.  _

_ There’s a gentle knock on the door before the visitor lets themself in and Ben whirls around to see Leslie with a smile on her face, her alleged lover not far behind her. _

_ “There you are!” She greets him cheerily. “I’ve been wondering what you were up to.” _

_ Ben doesn’t say anything, but his ragged breathing and rigid posture are enough to inform Leslie of his current emotional state. She frowns and tries to come towards him, but he places his hands on his hips and she freezes on the spot. _

_ “Honey?” Leslie asks apprehensively, her voice heavy with concern. _

_ “How long?” Ben croaks, and he sounds too calm for Leslie’s comfort. His eyes grow darker than before and he booms, “How long have you been fucking him?!” _

_ Leslie looks incredulously between Ben and Shepherd before attempting to take another step towards her husband. Something was wrong, other than the baseless accusation that he just screamed at her. If she were to look back once again she’d probably see Shepherd trying to wordlessly convince her to stay away from Ben at the moment, but she remains focused on her husband’s irate form. _

_ “Ben,” she tries to reason with him but she’s honestly too taken aback to come up with the words to ask him what in the hell prompted this tirade. _

_ “How long?!” Ben screams again, causing Leslie to flinch. _

_ “Ben,” Leslie pleads. “What caused this? Why are you acting this way?” _

_ He points angrily to the TV which plays the story over again, albeit with different anchors this time around. Leslie shakes her head in denial, desperate to convince Ben that it isn’t true. He just breathes forcefully. _

_ “Is Sasha my daughter?” Ben asks bitterly with a hint of cruelty in his tone. _

_ “What the hell are you getting at?” Leslie bites back darkly with tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Of course she is!” _

_ “And that’s why she looks nothing like me, right?” He says sardonically. “And it’s why she has the same name as his mother?” _

_ “I happen to really like that name,” Leslie says with fire and bites her lower lip in an effort to quell the impending waterworks. “You’re being an ass right now, Ben. And might I remind you of your company on the night that photo was taken?” _

_ Ben softens at her reminder as well as Leslie’s incredibly hurt expression that transcends just her eyes. He supposes that it isn’t illogical to conclude that Rosalyn may have been the one to start the rumor, but given the anonymous nature of the tip, he figures that he’ll never know for sure. His hands fall limply to his sides and he hangs his head in shame when the gravity of what he’s accusing her of finally sets in, unable to look at Leslie in the emotional state that he caused. _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says quietly as he stands before Leslie. She chokes on the sob that she’s been holding back and flings herself into his arms then buries her face against his chest as his arms wrap mindless around her. He runs his fingers through her hair in an effort to coax her down from her adrenaline fueled high, feeling more and more remorseful as each second passes by. _

_ At some point, she stops crying and takes a deep breath to calm herself. She mutters into his chest about how it’s been a long day and that they should go to bed, to which he numbly agrees. She slinks against his side and allows Ben to guide her from the room with her eyes still remaining closed for the most part. Ben notices that the other man in the room hasn’t moved since entering, that he still stands in the path of the door, currently obstructing Ben and Leslie’s exit. The men share a pointed glare before Shepherd ultimately moves out of their way so that he can follow them to his all too familiar post outside of their closed bedroom door. _

“Mrs. Wyatt,” the director presses on. “Were you ever, or are you currently, engaged in a relationship with Agent Shepherd that is romantic in nature?”

Leslie’s temper flares. “Are you insinuating that I lied to my husband?”

“Avoidance is unbecoming, ma’am. Please answer the question.”

“I didn’t lie to Ben that night,” she says truthfully.

“What about after?” Russell asks as if he already knows the answer. “Did you engage in a relationship with Agent Shepherd after that night?”

Shep’s foot twitches involuntarily underneath hers. Leslie swallows the lump in her throat. “No, sir.”

“A relationship of that nature is prohibited for a multitude of reasons,” Russell continues as his eyes narrow in suspicion. “Concern for your safety is one of them. An agent’s attention should never be compromised by their personal feelings towards their assignments. It’s unprofessional and is grounds for termination.”

“Respectfully, sir, but back the hell off,” Leslie barks before she realizes what she’s said and then finds that she doesn’t necessarily disagree with the words that continue to tumble from her lips. “This issue was between Ben and me and has already been resolved.”

“That’s not an easy accusation for a husband to make, Mrs. Wyatt, unless there was considerable reason to believe the rumor to be true.” Leslie suppresses a mocking laugh because there  _ was _ a reason that Ben thought it was true - he was still struggling with his guilt over his attraction to Rosalyn and acted out by accusing her of being unfaithful not long before he himself was. “So again, I ask you, are you and Agent Shepherd participating in an unethical relationship?”

“No.” She says cooly. “We’re not.”

“Good,” Russell replies unconvincingly. In Leslie’s peripheral, she can see Shep holding his breath as his eyes dart rapidly over various parts of her body, silently willing Leslie to maintain her composure.

“Are you going to ask me any more ridiculous and offensive questions, or are we free to leave now?” Leslie snarls.

“You’re dismissed.”

She storms out of the conference room without saying anything further and Shepherd nods uncomfortably before rising from his seat to follow her. The officer turns to the director apprehensively.

“That woman just sat there and blatantly lied to my face.”

“Should I contact the director of the Secret Service?” The officer asks.

“No. Not yet, at least.”

* * *

MAY 2017

“Ma’am?” Shepherd asks Leslie hesitantly not long after the verbal altercation between Ben and Leslie within the Oval Office went down.

He sits in a chair in the corner of Leslie’s personal office on the third floor of the White House’s executive residence, stealing glances at her as she responds to emails and jots down the occasional note to herself on a nearby legal pad while pretending to be engrossed in his book, the symbolism of the protagonist staring at the flashing green light not entirely lost upon him. Perhaps, he mulls bitterly, Leslie is to him as Daisy Buchanan is to Gatsby - unobtainable and sure to bring tragedy into his life. More alarming, however, is the realization that he doesn’t necessarily care if her presence in his life is a bad omen.

Leslie picks her head up and smiles. “What’s up?”

He sighs and flips to the end of the book where earlier he’d stuck a folded piece of paper between the final page and the back cover. He debates on dropping the subject entirely but with one look at Leslie and the thought of being indefinitely separated from her, he decides to push through the rising anxiety.

“I, uh… I received this from my director this morning.” Shep slides the folded paper across Leslie’s desk so that she can pick it up and she grabs it, completely unaware of its contents. “He said it’s incomplete. He said something about you needing to sign it if you want it to be processed.”

Leslie frowns and thumbs the paper open and scans the text on the page multiple times to ensure that she’s reading it properly. She runs her fingers over the bold, all caps heading at the top of the page that reads reassignment request as her breath hitches. All of the necessary blanks at the bottom of the page are filled out in black ink including the blank for the director’s signature, completed earlier that morning. The only spot that remains unsigned is the spot designated for the protectee, right above Ben’s signature requesting for Shepherd’s removal, signed the day after the event in the Oval Office.

Leslie scowls and digs in her drawer for a red pen to Shep’s dismay. She blinks furiously at the paper before lowering her pen to it and aggressively striking her pen through the blank space in protest. She folds the paper back up and slides it back over to Shepherd.

“I didn’t make this request,” Leslie says crisply.

“I know,” Shepherd replies softly. “You didn’t sign it in the first place, that’s how I know.”

Leslie crosses her arms over her chest and sulks into her seat. She tries to turn her attention back to her laptop’s screen but she finds that she’s too furious to do so. “I’ll talk to him,” Leslie sighs in a raging fury.

“It’s fine. Really.”

“No, it’s not,” she snaps then recoils in frustration. “He’s being ridiculous.” Leslie groans then starts typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Shep asks cautiously.

“I’m singing your praises to your boss,” Leslie grumbles without pausing her efforts. “I’m sure it doesn’t look great on your performance but it’s not your fault. And he should know that.”

Shepherd says nothing and flips back to his spot in the book with a smile.

* * *

The final days of May pass by agonizingly slowly and tensely, with Leslie unable and unwilling to approach Ben beyond polite conversation - something that does not go unnoticed by Ben. Not that he could blame her, really, after everything that had happened.

She awakes fully clothed with his arm draped around her torso one night in early June and she rests her palm on his wrist, unsure of whether his embrace is wanted or not. Her stirring gently jostles him from his sleep and he blinks and pulls her closer.

“Did you just wake up?” He asks softly, trying not to disturb their sleeping daughter. Leslie nods her head, evidently taking the same precautions as him. “Is everything okay? Do you feel well?”

She nods again and shifts in his arms so she can look at him. He looks so unbelievably exhausted and even in the low light, Leslie can see flecks of grey growing in the beginnings of his stubble - just another reminder of the physical toll that this job was having on his body. She really ought to be more alarmed by the effects that the constant stress was having on him, but it makes him look so handsome, she thinks.

“I’m fine, old man,” she whispers lovingly as her thumb reaches out to brush against the rough patches along his jaw, paying considerable attention to the peppering of grey. “It’s about that time, though,” she comments, referring to the nightly hour that Sasha awakes to feed.

“I know for a fact that you have a thing for older men, so that’s hardly an insult,” he smiles sleepily, allowing his eyes to close as he mumbles something about Joe Biden. “But you don’t get to call me old until I start taking little blue pills.”

“So in five years, huh?” Leslie smiles and Ben’s eyes snap open before he gives her a playful shake.

“More like thirty.”

“In your dreams, grandpa,” Leslie laughs and snuggles up to him, trying not to let her eyes close because she knows she’ll just be abruptly awakened by Sasha in a few short minutes. She closes them just for a moment and listens to his heartbeat under her head, the blood pumping rhythmically through his body as a sign of just how alive he is, as tangible as the sheets that she curls her toes around. She doesn’t think that they’re entirely past the events that occurred a few weeks ago, but she finds that she’s finally ready to be past it, and that’s more than she could say as of a few days ago.

“How long do you think we have?”

“Not long,” Leslie gauges based on how full her breasts feel. And a few moments later, like clockwork, the baby begins to fuss in her bassinet just a few feet from the bed. Leslie forces her eyes open with a gentle sigh and starts to get out of bed until Ben stops her.

“I’ve got it.”

She scoffs yet means no offense. “You don’t have the parts.”

“I meant I’ll grab her,” he replies, already gathering Sasha in his arms and walking towards Leslie’s side of the bed. She takes their daughter from him gratefully and hikes up the side of her Minnesota Wild t-shirt (the one she’d bought to tease him with after learning about his love of hockey and the absolute blunder that was Ice Town) in preparation. He crawls over her legs and flops onto his back on the mattress. “Look, ma’am, I’m sure you’re a lovely woman, but there’s no need to flash me.”

She winces - partially from the sensation of Sasha latching and partially in response to Ben’s joke. Leslie wants nothing more than to fall back asleep, but there is no way she would be able to in an upright position. She considers it one of her fatal flaws.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Ben asks, trying to make himself useful.

“A little bit of both,” she admits and watches as he rummages through the bottom drawer of his nightstand and produces a tiny bottle of water and a single serving of mini Oreos, her biggest craving during the tail end of her pregnancy. His preparedness almost makes her cry.

“How tired are you? If I ask your opinion on something, will you remember this conversation?”

“The real question is will you?” Leslie counters with a tired smile.

He chooses to ignore her playful dig and takes one of her hands in his. “What if we went away for a few nights? Just the two of us, no kids.”

Leslie’s quiet as she considers his proposition. “That depends on where we’d be going.”

Ben’s face splits into a grin. “I was thinking of Paris.”

Leslie blinks furiously as if it’ll cause his excited expression to return to normal. “Did I hear you correctly? Paris?” He nods. “But that’s so far.”

“Just for two or three days,” he promises. “I have a meeting with the French President and Prime Minister in a few weeks but that should only last a few hours. We could spend a night or two there.”

“That’s so far,” she whispers again while looking down at Sasha. “What if the kids need us?”

“They’ll be fine,” Ben assures her. “Just think about it. I think it would be good for us.”

* * *

A trip to Paris would  _ absolutely  _ be good for them, Leslie thinks while watching the sunrise over the French skyline from within Air Force One. Her excitement begins to rise the closer they get to the ground and even more so when she thinks about all of the uninterrupted hours of sleep she’s going to get. While she absolutely adores their children, Leslie laments the years that she could sleep as much or as little as she pleased and is already looking forward to crashing in the undoubtedly lush oversized bed that awaits her and her husband later that evening.

“I don’t know when we’ll be done today, honey,” Ben says as later they stand in the lobby of their hotel as he adjusts the sleeves of his shirt to ensure that his rolled cuffs are of equal length. Leslie reaches out to adjust his tie ever so slightly and gives his chest a pat. “It could be as early as four, it could be as late as six. But we have dinner reservations for seven thirty, so we’ll definitely be done before then.”

“Okay,” Leslie says sweetly as her hands fall to rest on his waist. “I can meet you back here around two.”

“No,” Ben protests and watches as Leslie’s face twists with confusion. “I don’t want you waiting up on me for hours on end. Go have fun. I can entertain myself if needed.”

Leslie’s eyes lower halfway as if to chastise him for the unintentional innuendo but he doesn’t seem to catch on. He just continues his infatuated staring at her as he reaches for the pair of sunglasses that dangle from his shirt’s collar. “So six, then?”

“I’ll be here,” Ben smirks and pushes the frames up his nose. “Kiss,” he says as he leans towards her, more command than request, but Leslie smiles and meets him halfway with a soft sigh and fluttering lashes just the same. Ben’s fingers curl around her hips before he gives her a gentle nudge away from his body. “Okay, I really have to go now.”

“Do you really need to meet with those government officials?” Leslie asks him, but she already knows the answer.

Ben just reaches into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. His fingers dance over the worn brown leather and glide past the two photos that sit within the clear plastic section in lieu of his driver’s license - one photo of Leslie holding Aiden shortly after his birth and another of Sasha’s sonogram that was taken at twenty weeks of gestation (because he hasn’t had the chance to get an updated photograph of her just yet) - and reaches for the silver credit card that rests within the leather folds.

“Have a good time,” he tells Leslie as he hands her the card. “Just be sure to leave stuff for other people to buy.”

Leslie squints and mutters something about her not being a big spender, but Ben’s grin just spreads further when she insists that she doesn’t purchase items recklessly. He parts after giving her temple a haste peck, leaving her in the company of Flynn and Shepherd and the occasional hotel staff member that could not be less impressed by her presence. She ultimately decides that she wants to venture into the city sooner rather than later and turns to the men with a telling expression on her face.

“Oh absolutely not,” Flynn grumbles.

With the dark circles that have accumulated under his eyes as well as his unenthusiastic demeanor (at least, more than usual), Leslie can already tell that asking him to accompany her for hours is out of the question. At least if she wants to keep him on her personal protective team, it’s out of the question. She turns to Shepherd who, having outgrown the poor sleeping habits that accompany newer or younger members of the Secret Service, seems more than qualified to actually do his job.

“At least someone here acts like a grown up,” Leslie says teasingly in Flynn’s direction.

He grumbles in response. “Two words, Rarity: Time change.”

Leslie steps over to Flynn and takes both sides of his jaw gently within one of her hands before giving him a playful shake. “Aw, you poor baby,” she coos with faux sympathy. She gives his shoulder blade a firm pat as he strolls past her, heeding her advice to go get more sleep. She turns back to Shep, giving him a lighthearted roll of her eyes in response to his colleague’s chronic lack of work ethic before she brushes past him to make her way out of the lobby, him following shortly behind.

* * *

It takes a barricade formed by the French police to allow Leslie the space to walk the short distance from the car to the storefront. She stops to smile for quick photos with a few of the people begging for her attention, shaking hands with some others before she gives a polite wave and smiles to the rest of the crowd when Shepherd’s hand grazes against the back of her shoulder to indicate that they should keep moving.

The boutique is mostly empty, just shelves and racks and displays of clothing that takes Leslie’s breath away and the three young women that currently staff the store standing behind the counter while examining the screen of a cell phone.

“Mon Dieu,” says one of the girls breathlessly when she looks up to greet the patrons. Her hand struggles to find her coworker’s arm as she keeps her focus on Leslie who smiles politely. The other two lift their heads and gasp before they all shuffle out from behind the counter to greet her.

“Bonjour Madame Wyatt,” one says.

Another bounces excitedly. “Bienvenue à Paris!”

“Merci, mademoiselle,” Leslie replies after wracking her memory for the two years of high school French that she’d archived long, long ago. With any luck, she’ll be able to make it through this trip without having to converse primarily in another language. “Comment allez-vous?”

"Très bien,” they practically sing in tandem, becoming more and more starstruck the longer they spend in her presence.

“If you need help with anything please let us know,” the first girl says in a thick accent before her long blonde hair swings over her shoulder. They start whispering rapidly amongst themselves in French, pausing only to steal a glimpse at Leslie as she browses the merchandise before returning to their happy, fervent conversation.

Leslie runs her fingers along the various fabrics of the dresses that manage to capture her interest and grabs a few from the rack, heading to the changing room after perusing the majority of the inventory. The girls help Leslie in and out of numerous dresses that don’t quite measure up to Leslie’s liking and Shepherd tries to pass the time as he waits for her by suddenly becoming fascinated with the texture of a pashmina that’s draped over the arms of a mannequin.

His attention is broken by the rustling of the dressing room curtain and he turns around to see what’s happening. Leslie pokes her head out in search of the other two girls and they huddle around her, their anticipation building for the moment when she and their coworker will step out from behind the black fabric.

She steps out into the open wearing a floor length maroon dress that hangs off of her shoulders and gives everyone a twirl, followed by awestruck choruses of ‘magnifique’ and ‘que c’est beau’ from the girls. They beam at her before they make their way back into the main area of the store to organize inventory. Leslie admires her reflection before turning to Shepherd.

“So, what do you think?” Leslie asks.

He stifles a groan that threatens to rise from his throat - not because she could’ve looked better, but the complete opposite. He loves the way that the dress’s sleeves show more of her shoulders than he’s usually accustomed to seeing, he likes the way that the back dips down further than usual so he can admire the freckles on her skin, and he is  _ really  _ appreciative of the way the dress’s low cut neckline draws attention to her swollen chest (not that he  _ noticed, _ though. And even if he hypothetically  _ had _ noticed, he wouldn’t be caught dead sneaking a look lest he be declared a pervert - or worse, be found out).

“It’s very pretty,” he replies, unable to express the true extent of his feelings.

She smiles. “Good. I’m going to get it, then.” Leslie looks around for the girls to help her out of the dress, but they’ve disappeared. She shimmies her shoulders before turning around. “Do you mind?”

He blinks and steps towards her before grabbing the zipper between his thumb and index finger, his other hand coming to rest on the bare skin of her shoulder to stabilize her. He’s about to help her out of the dress when he finds that he cannot move. He can’t act. He’s entirely too distracted by the position that he’s got her in and her state of dress and he wants nothing more than to savor the moment and to put it away in his mind for later.

He looks at their reflection in the mirror that’s before them and he hesitates further, becoming increasingly aware of how secluded they are from onlooking eyes behind the privacy of the heavy curtain. He feels her shoulder rise and fall in time with her breathing and he’s suddenly overcome with the desire to taste her skin and to wrap his arms around her. Before he can stop himself, he sees his reflection lowering his lips to her shoulder until he feels her jump underneath him, her breath hitching in her throat with a small gasp before she relaxes into his embrace, grabbing the hand that he’s moved to her hip and pulling it tighter around herself.

“Shep?” Leslie asks and he blinks.

The zipper’s still clutched between his fingers, his hand is still on her shoulder, and his lips are noticeably absent from her skin. He shakes the fantasy from his head.

“Sorry,” he mutters and unzips her, making sure to divert his eyes before the skin of her back can be seen through the folds of fabric and he steps out of the changing room to grant her more privacy.

* * *

“So what’s the deal with you, Shep?” Leslie asks suddenly as they sit at a cafe situated alongside the Seine. A soft breeze blows Leslie’s hair back as she takes a sip of the warm coffee that’s in her ceramic mug. Shepherd watches her with keen interest, studying her face as if her eyes may indicate what she means by her question as they peek out at him from over the top of the cup.

“What do you mean, what's the deal with me?”

Leslie smiles softly and mindlessly twirls a loose strand of hair that frames her face around her fingers. He thinks he might die if she keeps teasing him further - but then again, she might not have even the slightest clue of the effect that she has on him.

“Is it because you’re crazy?” Leslie laughs lightheartedly and he can feel himself becoming unnecessarily defensive. He doesn’t even know what she’s asking in reference to but she gives him a wink and he can feel his anxiety start to settle.

“You’re drinking hot coffee in June and  _ I’m  _ the crazy one?” Shep counters before taking a sip of his tea, leaning forward on his elbows in an effort to get closer to Leslie. “God, imagine the case study that could be built off of you. Starting with the way you take your coffee.”

They’d had this discussion more times than either person could count at this point. He cannot stand coffee. He abhors it, really. It’s too bitter and the way that Leslie likes it is too sweet for his liking and he doesn’t like to be jittery. Not when he already has a perfectly good reason to have the jitters sitting across from him.

“It’s an explanation that has crossed my mind,” she says simply while allowing the mid afternoon sun to warm her face. She is going to need at least another cup of coffee to go, though, if she’s meant to be making it through the day without taking a nap.

“For what?” Shep asks determinedly.

“The reason that you’re still single.”

_ Ah, there it was.  _

“I…” He stammers. She completely blindsided him. “I’m not crazy.”

“Then why are you still single?” Leslie asks before staring dreamily into the murky water that’s beside their table.

She pulls her hat further down on her head in an effort to shield her face before pushing her large sunglasses up from the tip of her nose. And just in time, too, because when Shepherd glances at the river to buy himself some time while he tries to come up with a response, a huge barge containing hundreds of tourists floats past them at a dragging pace. Leslie turns her face away. In this position, she’s afforded the liberty of being literally any other unidentifiable person in Paris. He realizes that it’s probably been far too long since she’s been afforded something as simple as privacy from curious eyes while in public.

“There’s not really any time for me to meet anyone,” he says carefully but smiles shortly thereafter. “I guess that’s kind of your fault.”

“Sure, blame me,” Leslie laughs.

There’s something in the way she eyes him, as if his inner musings are being projected on his forehead and she’s reading the text as it scrolls by on the marquee. Shepherd’s just about to ask Leslie what she’s staring at when she looks away once more and traces the rim of her mug with the pads of her fingers and he’s finally able to breathe a little easier. He really wishes that she wouldn’t insist on having this conversation right now. But he knows her, and he knows that to hope that Leslie will change her mind about something is futile.

“You have days off, Shep. You could always meet someone then.”

He runs his fingers through his hair before tucking his chin towards his neck. He stares at the rolled sleeves of his shirt and considers the texture of his skin as it bakes in the summer sun. “Yeah, but it’s been my experience that women like it when you call them. Or take them out on dates. Or at the very least when you spend time with them. It’s hard to get to know someone when you’re working my kind of hours.”

“So get married on a whim. That’s what I did.”

Shep wants to ask her how exactly that seems to be working out for her at the moment, but he decides against it considering she and Ben finally seem to be on the mend. There’s absolutely zero need for him to remind Leslie of the earlier verbal altercation she and Ben had gotten into because surely she remembers it well enough without him prompting her to do so.

“No,” he says gently. “I want to marry my best friend. I want to know that there’s nothing that my wife and I can’t overcome because we like each other as people as well as partners.”

Leslie stiffens. “Ben and I are like that. We weren’t always, but we got there. Are you saying we don’t have a healthy relationship?”

“No, of course not,” he says quickly and nearly groans. “I just want to know with certainty that it won’t end when I get married.”

Leslie seems to find his answer acceptable and her posture relaxes before she lets out a huff of air. “Yeah… Ben and I are like that. There are good and bad moments. But we said ‘til death do us part - and I have every intention of going first. I’ll be ninety and I’ll get to hold his hand as I slip away surrounded by our kids and their children. Maybe their children’s children, if I’m lucky. I haven’t thought that far ahead, though,” Leslie says earnestly before her impish streak returns. “Every marriage has its rough patches. That’s what mind-blowing make up sex is for. Have you ever screwed your frustration out?”

“I don’t talk about my sex life with people I’m not sleeping with.”

“It’s going to happen one day.”

He nearly chokes on the mouthful of earl grey that he unwisely took just moments before. He finally manages to down the liquid without aspirating it and painfully asks her, “I’m sorry? What’s going to happen?” There’s no way that he heard her correctly - and even if he had, there’s no way she actually  _ meant  _ it. How could she be so nonchalant about saying something like that?

“I’m going to pry your secrets out of you. Just give it time, honey.” 

Leslie giggles triumphantly when Shep practically grimaces then she lets out a soft cry when she remembers something within one of the shopping bags at her feet. She takes another sip of her coffee before ducking below the table and retrieving a tiny bag that she places on the table unceremoniously, waiting for Shepherd to reach for the bag before Leslie decides that he’s taking too long and she pushes the bag towards him. He takes it in his grasp and sticks his fingers in, unsure of whether he should continue until Leslie beams at him.

“What are you waiting for? I got you something,” she pouts gently.

Shepherd’s fingers curl around a thin piece of cardboard covered in plastic wrapping, his eyebrows momentarily raising in surprise when the cardboard is heavier than he anticipates. The protective backing of a lapel pin stares up at him when he pulls the packaging completely out from the gift bag and his curiosity flares before flipping it over. Leslie props herself up on the top of the table using her elbows and rests her chin in her hands as she watches his reaction.

An enamel replication of a sunflower sits lightly in his hand and he smiles as he makes to remove the protective film. The glossy metal of the pin cools his skin as he runs his fingers along the serrated edges of the flower’s petals and tries his best to maintain his composure.

“It’s a sunflower,” he says, his voice weak and breathy as he fiddles with the pin, watching as the glare of the sunlight shifts when he tilts the pin from side to side. 

“A thank you for helping me decorate back in January. And for spending every waking moment with me. You’ve really made this transition easier for me. Plus I know that sunflowers are your favorite.”

“But I never told you that they’re my favorite.”

“I just had a feeling,” she replies. “You seemed really happy when I chose them as the floral arrangement.”

And Shepherd was, in fact, enthused when Leslie had decided to go with his suggestion for the decor. Especially after she compared the curtain’s color to his eyes. And he really doesn’t have a favorite flower - at least, he hadn’t before just now. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that some people might have a favorite flower, but after seeing just how excited Leslie got when he eyed her token of appreciation, he realizes that he’ll never see sunflowers the same way ever again.

“I don’t spend every waking moment with you, ma’am.”

“Pretty close to it,” Leslie smiles before finishing her coffee and collecting the bags containing her purchases.

Shepherd just smiles once more - more enthused than he dares to show - and closes his fingers around the lapel pin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paris part deux
> 
> again, niseag: sea lions, luv

JULY 2017 - PARIS

Ben and Leslie sit side by side in a curved booth at the upscale restaurant that Ben made reservations at, the table in front of them cleared from the traditional seven courses they’d enjoyed throughout the night, each installment more delicious than the previous. Ben’s arm drapes loosely around Leslie’s shoulders as she leans against him, satiated and sleepy from the day’s events. Each kiss that she receives on her temple threatens to lull Leslie to sleep in the recesses of the restaurant as she revels in her husband’s affection. He and this moment are perfect, free of any blemishes or deficiencies, and she feels that she’s made every correct choice, done every good deed, even defied the laws of the universe to have wound up with what she considers the perfect man.

Ben’s hand rubbing against her arm wakes her from the lightest stage of sleep and when she opens her eyes, Leslie sees a string quartet standing before them in eager anticipation. A fifth member steps out from behind the others bearing no evident instrument until he clears his throat. They begin playing with a gentle countdown and Leslie instantly recognizes the beginning of the song. She turns to Ben, blinking slowly and dreamily.

“Je t’aime, ma chérie," he whispers and presses his forehead to hers.

“You’re a sap,” Leslie laughs lightly but her voice wavers on account of her emotions running high, tears pooling in her eyes before spilling over and cascading down her face. “Edith Piaf?”

“La Vie en rose is a classic.”

She blinks away the waterworks and kisses him before she allows herself to enjoy the serenading while finishing her glass of merlot.

She wishes they could stay this way forever - slightly buzzed with no responsibilities and so, so in love.

* * *

The door clicks behind Leslie as she strides after Ben into the middle of their hotel room, fully intent on collapsing into one of the oversized chairs that await her in the sitting room. She falls into the cushions with a sigh, only for her hand to be grabbed by Ben and her body hoisted up as she whines in protest.

“Whaaat?” Leslie wails and plants her feet into the lush carpeting, but this only makes her husband smile in adoration.

“It’s still early,” he swoons. While he’s not wrong about the time of the evening, Leslie is exhausted after the eventful day of outings and the dinner she and Ben just enjoyed combined with the effects of jetlag. She really wants nothing more than to get under the covers and sleep until it’s time to go back home to Washington.

“Ben… no kids. Big bed,” she mumbles.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he smiles, but when he puts his hands on her hips, Leslie realizes that he has other activities in mind - activities that she’s far too tired for.

“I’m so tired Ben. I have a sleep deficit of… how old is our kid?”

Ben chuckles and pulls her closer. “He is five.”

“Of five years, then,” she mumbles into his shoulder. She turns away from him to take out her earrings and discards them on top of the coffee table that she had planned on resting her feet on just a few moments prior.

Ben swallows thickly and shuffles forward to wrap his arms around his wife’s waist from behind and places a kiss on the exposed skin just above her collarbone. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I know that you’re tired.”

Leslie leans her head back against his chest. Her fingers graze up and over his knuckles in their quest to fondle his wedding band and she spins it around his finger with her thumb before sighing contentedly. His palm flattens against her lower belly as a means to subdue her, preventing her from wiggling away as he positions himself perfectly against her backside. Her body fills with a familiar heat, an adrenaline rush that makes itself known as the blood travels through her body and peaks right between her thighs.

Perhaps she  _ isn’t _ too tired to fool around with her husband - but that doesn’t mean she’s going to make this easy for him.

“Fine,” she smirks. “But very minimal foreplay.”

“Ah, yes! My favorite thing to hear when I’m trying to sleep with someone: ‘fine.’”

“Hush,” Leslie barks and grabs him by the hand. “I want to look at the view first.”

They step out onto the balcony and close the sliding glass door behind them. Leslie walks right up to the railing and props her forearms against the cool metal as she marvels at the glowing lights of the city. Their balcony has an unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower being illuminated in red, white, and blue lights on account of their visit and Leslie sighs. She holds her finger up to the side of the tower as if to provide support to the structure and smiles at the state of her life. Ben joins Leslie at the railing to the right side of her and graces her with a smile.

Leslie’s peaceful observance of the city lights doesn’t last for long, however. She feels the fabric at the back of her dress being bunched up and lifted and she flinches.

“What are you doing?!” Leslie gasps in a hushed voice, partially horrified but also incredibly turned on by the scandalous nature of what she thinks Ben is attempting to do.

“Shh,” Ben instructs her and lifts her dress higher until he’s able to slip his hand underneath the bunched fabric. “You’re going to attract people’s attention.”

His palm rests on the curve of her ass until she wiggles just enough to position his hand where she wants it. Ben taps the pads of his fingers against her bare clit in a rhythmic pattern before he draws his index finger across her damp folds.

“God, you’re such a little slut,” he breathes forcibly in reference to her lack of underwear. “It’s almost like you wanted me to fuck you.”

She has half a mind to falsely insist that the choice was made for the sake of her appearance within the dress’s tight fabric but Leslie feels Ben position the pads of his fingers at her opening, making tiny circles with the tips of his fingers as he teases her by refusing to slip his fingers inside. She whimpers and he chuckles silently in amusement while staring past her shoulder, pretending to be fascinated by the glowing lights of the Eiffel Tower rather than how wet his wife already is.

“Back that ass up, baby. You know how to get what you want.”

She wants to pout and whine and complain that he’s being too smug but admittedly, it’s kind of doing it for her. Leslie spreads her legs just a bit further and sinks backward onto his fingers, hissing as quietly as she can manage. She sneaks a look at Ben’s face which is rife with self satisfaction. Under normal circumstances, she’d knock his ego down a peg by getting herself off but she feels something cool and metallic touch the skin between her legs as she sinks down on Ben’s fingers that sends further shivers down her spine once she realizes the source of the chill.

“Are you using your ring finger?” Leslie asks airily. Ben wiggles his fingers within her and causes her breath to hitch.

“And the middle.”

She wants to tell him just how hot that is, just how good everything feels, but she has to bite down on her lip to suppress a whimper when his index finger begins toying with her clit. She hears Ben grin wickedly a heartbeat before he stops his activity, letting his finger rest motionless exactly where she desires him. Leslie squeezes her legs together in an effort to get him to start again and she practically cries with relief when he starts to circle her again.

Leslie braces herself a few moments later when she feels her body racing towards the finish line far sooner than she would’ve liked. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to suppress her moans and allows her head to fall limply as she feels herself tightening around Ben’s hand against her will. 

“Good girl, Leslie,” Ben whispers, his voice low and gravelly as he removes his fingers and smooths her dress down. He slides both of his wet fingers into his mouth and his cheeks hollow as he licks her off of him. “God, I wish you’d let me eat you out.”

“Such a giver,” Leslie says breathlessly with a roll of her shoulders. “How will you manage?” She’s quiet as the final pulses of her orgasm fade into oblivion then she picks her head up and pushes off of the balcony’s railing. “Maybe I changed my mind about that.”

Ben grabs her hand and pulls her back into the hotel room, sliding the door shut with such enthusiasm that it pops back open after making contact with the frame. He takes the time to properly close it and flips the latch into the locked position before twirling a sleepy and blissful Leslie around so he can pull her flush against his body, the hem of her dress swishing against her ankles. Ben runs his hands down from Leslie’s shoulders to her waist and they both laugh between excited kisses when Ben’s hand slides down to grab her ass as he gently tilts Leslie backward. She pushes her fingers through her husband’s hair and directs his lips to her neck where he sucks determinedly, fully intending on leaving marks for everyone to see until he stops abruptly.

“I’ve got another challenge for you,” Ben smirks as he pushes the two of them towards the bed before giving Leslie a gentle push so that she falls to the bed with a soft thud. He crawls on top of her, hovering ever so slightly above Leslie so as to not smother her under his weight but still pressing just enough against her to where Leslie can feel just how turned on he is by being able to call all of the shots. “I’m going to fuck you. And I’m going to make you scream.”

“That’s big talk, sir,” Leslie says with a playful yawn - but she really doesn’t have to fake how exhausted she is. “What if I fall asleep?”

“If you fall asleep while I’m banging you, I will never have sex again.”

Leslie giggles and pulls Ben down to her for a kiss. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You shut your mouth,” Ben warns her impishly and pulls her limp, ragdoll frame farther up on the mattress. “I know you, Leslie. I know how to make you come and I know how to make you come again - even harder than the first time if I’m feeling charitable. I know all of your kinks,” Ben breathes gruffly.

“And what happens if I scream?”

Ben exhales involuntarily, a sound that’s half laughter and half mocking her for her insolence. “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that,” he replies as he prompts her to roll over underneath him. He gives the dress’s zipper a tug and Leslie feels the fabric loosen around her torso before she feels the sting of his palm against her behind. She lets out an aroused yelp and she arches her back to raise her hips off the mattress. “You know just as well as I do that it’s  _ when  _ not  _ if.  _ And  _ when  _ you scream, I get the satisfaction of winning our little game as well as knowing that everyone outside will know your kinks, too.”

“And if I don’t scream?” Leslie asks as Ben helps her out of her dress.

“Then you maintain your dignity,” he drawls haughtily as he tosses her dress to the floor. “You’ll be able to look at your personal details in the eyes tomorrow morning. And I’ll tell you as many times as you like that I lost and you won.”

He trails one finger almost imperceptibly down her spine and Leslie whimpers and quivers beneath his touch. It’s almost cruel, what he’s doing to her. He knows that her inhibitions are already lowered on account of her exhaustion combined with the alcohol that they’d been served at dinner, putting the odds in this little game increasingly in his favor. But he also knows that if he eggs her on, her competitive nature will kick in and she’ll deny him the satisfaction of watching her turn into a blubbering mess upon reaching orgasm, and that almost seems more erotic than having bragging rights.

And if a particular agent gets to overhear Ben driving his wife wild, well, then that’s just an added bonus.

It’s really a win-win situation for him.

He can’t resist amping her up further. He leans in close to her, watching her flushed face as it presses against the comforter. He brushes his lips gently against her ear, letting his teeth scrape lightly across her skin as his warm breath makes her eyes flutter to a close as her pupils threaten to roll into the back of her head. “But you’re not going to win, Leslie.”

“You can’t win if you can only last as long as a high school virgin,” Leslie counters, grinning as she buries the side of her face in the covers. She fully expects Ben to physically reprimand her for it, but the spanking that she braces herself for never arrives.

“Ouch, babe, you’re hurting my ego.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re a two pump chump.”

With that, Ben strikes her ass again and she gasps, mostly on account of being unprepared. He prompts her to roll over and Leslie obliges with the hints of an excited smile on her face. If she’s going to lose the bet at any point, this would be the most likely event - something that Ben also realizes, because he arches an eyebrow in challenge as he lowers his head between her legs.

His breath is hot against her skin and it drives Leslie closer and closer to insanity as she waits for him to establish contact with her clit, but she’s determined to win. When his tongue does finally brush against her folds, however, her iron willpower means absolutely nothing. She shrieks before covering her mouth with her hand in horror, but it’s too late. She heard it. Ben heard it. And everyone outside their hotel room likely heard it, too.

Ben’s too smug when he’s between her legs, Leslie comes to realize when she feels his teeth against her labia as he grins. She mumbles that the instance doesn’t count, that it was merely a guttural reaction, a freebie, if you will, and Ben just hums in response as he continues to eat her out. He’ll regret ever agreeing to it if he loses because of it, but he really doesn’t care either way. It’s too intrinsically rewarding.

He can feel his wife becoming too wound up already and he doesn’t want to push her over the edge again just yet. Leslie is no stranger to multiple orgasms on his behalf, but he worries that she’ll be too tired to continue if he lets her off the hook just yet.

“My poor wife,” Ben croons as he pulls Leslie up from the bed towards the headboard. He presses his back against the solid wood and positions Leslie so that she’s sitting between his spread legs and he has to restrain the groan that threatens to rise from this throat when her bare back makes contact with his chest. She allows her head to rest in the crook of his neck and she purrs as she closes her eyes. “She tells me that I can’t go down on her and then complains that she’s never been sexually satisfied.”

“How dare she?”

“She has some nerve,” he says as he tangles his fingers through her curled hair then pulls at the nape of her neck in an effort to expose her to himself. “One time she nearly broke my nose as she rode my face. Another time she stained my pants with her pussy as she ground against my knee. Those were my favorite pants. She still hasn’t replaced them.”

Leslie’s toes curl at the memory. She thinks that the particular incident involving his knee happened after Ben’s inauguration when he was hyped up on post-swearing in euphoria and she was feeling perpetually lustful as the result of being six months pregnant, but she isn't sure. They were always having some sort of intercourse - celebratory or otherwise. She considers that the true strength of their pairing, that they understand and trust each other so completely that they never tire of each other’s touch, that each subsequent time feels just as passionate and electric as that first time all those years ago.

“Your wife sounds like a bitch,” Leslie says bluntly as she encourages Ben’s hands to explore her body. “You should sleep with me instead.”

“Only if you promise to buy me some new pants.”

“The ones I ruined were Ralph Lauren, weren’t they?” Leslie asks.

“Aw, the game’s over already?” Ben whines as his hands glide up her bare stomach towards her chest. She stops him before he can grab at her cleavage and repositions his hands at the base of her stomach.

“Sorry, I started thinking about how good your ass looked in them and I got distracted. And don’t grab me there, you know my predicament.”

“It’s just liquid.”

“I’ll get in my head about it.”

“Yes, they were Ralph Lauren. And not the cheap stuff, it was a Purple Label.”

Leslie rolls her eyes and squirms in his grasp. It really doesn’t make a difference whether she replaces the pants or if Ben does it himself because they share a bank account. Besides, she thought he would be trying to make good on their bet by now. She twists herself so they’re face to face.

“Why are your clothes still on?” Leslie comments. “Seems pretty misogynistic that the woman has to be completely naked while you get to stay covered up.” She starts working at Ben’s tie and pulls it over his head after loosening it. She tosses it to the carpet then starts on the buttons of his shirt.

“Because you’re the better looking person out of the two of us,” Ben says earnestly, prompting Leslie to freeze. She searches his face for any indication that he’s continuing their banter from earlier, but he looks completely serious and metaphorically exposed - something that catches Leslie off guard. Her hands fall to her lap.

“Honey,” she starts, her voice thick with emotion. The last thing she’d expected from her husband was insecurity regarding his appearance. Or insecurity at all, for that matter.

The vulnerability doesn’t linger for long, though, and is quickly replaced with a smirk. Ben’s palms grip Leslie’s hips and he digs his nails into her bare flesh. “And because you’ve got an ass that won’t quit.”

Leslie’s lips press together in a straight and stern line as she reaches a bit too harshly for the buckle of Ben’s belt. “Shut up and take your damn pants off.”

Ben sheds his shirt unceremoniously and kicks his shoes off before tugging his pants off. Leslie moves to straddle his thighs and Ben quirks an eyebrow at the moisture accumulating between her legs, but she glares at him and any witty remark that he may have wanted to make evaporates on his lips. Her hand dips between their groins to grab him and she squeezes him lightly, observing the way his resolve weakens and crumbles with each pump of her hand.

“Screaming, huh?” Leslie huffs with a toss of her hair. She positions herself over him and sinks down on top of him, just enough so that the head of Ben’s cock is barely inside of her. “Face it, Benjamin. You’re all talk. You’re losing.”

Ben opens his mouth to retort but Leslie pushes her hips down so that his entire length is swiftly within her and he’s speechless, too engrossed in the sensation of her pelvic floor muscles tightening against him. She rides him silently, choosing to focus on the way his grunts and moans and mini thrusts all coincide with the pace that she’s set.

It all rather seems rather monotonous with her head resting on his shoulder until she groans and changes the angle of her hips so she can feel him against her front wall. She lifts her forehead and leans into the sensation, biting on her lower lip as the fire between her legs begins to build. She can’t see her husband’s face through her clenched eyes but she imagines that it bears a smug, satisfied smirk considering he’s told her before just how much he loves watching her get off on his anatomy.

“You don’t have to look so full of yourself,” Leslie says breathlessly. It really wouldn’t be too much longer for her, Ben realizes and he curls his fingers around her hips.

“You can’t even see me,” he grins. But, yeah, she had hit the nail on the head if his voice was any indication.

“I know you.” She smiles softly. “I can hear you. Your voice really exposes your superiority complex.”

“Chill it with the dirty talk, missus. You know what it does to me.”

Leslie chortles and pushes her hips down against his one final time before she’s coming again, more intensely this time. 

“Leslie,” Ben groans and taps her twice on the hip with urgency. She really needs to get off of him.

Leslie just shakes her head no with a playful smirk and Ben’s eyebrow quirks in response before allowing himself to submit to the impending tsunami of pleasure. Leslie pants and rides through the final waves of her own orgasm and the beginning of her husband’s until his breathing finally levels off.

“You think you’re so cute,” he huffs and reaches for the towel that he’d draped on top of the nightstand after his shower earlier that evening. “That little maneuver’s going to get you in trouble someday.”

Leslie hums blissfully - teasingly - and takes the towel from Ben’s hands before climbing off of him. “I don’t plan on it becoming a problem.”

“Well no one plans on accidentally becoming pregnant, babe. That’s kind of the meaning of the term accidental.”

“It won’t happen,” she assures him. “Once I’m done nursing Sasha I’m starting the pill again. It’s called the lactational amenorrhea method.”

She hunkers down into his embrace as he pulls the fluff of the comforter over their bodies and breathes deeply to capture the scent of her hair. He thinks that she’s playing a dangerous game judging by the ease that she said her preferred method of contraception. And admittedly, he doesn’t really believe in its effectiveness. No one’s ever mentioned it to him as a method before just now.

“Hands,” Leslie barks politely and Ben smiles before obliging in her request, intertwining their fingers as he spoons her.

He’s quiet, just enjoying her presence and this brief moment that’s solely them in a world that demands so much of their respective attention and personality. He blinks and pauses as he considers his words carefully. “Would it be the worst thing? If that were to happen?”

Leslie sighs. “I think I’m closing up shop after this, Ben. They’re cute, but babies are a lot. And don’t get me wrong, you’re the world’s greatest daddy and you’ve been so much help with both of them.”

“But,” Ben interjects.

“But it’s so physically exhausting. The growing and the birthing and the nursing and the sleepless nights and everything else. I have absolutely no desire to have another baby.” Ben nods sullenly and Leslie pats the back of his hand. “Why do you want another?”

“I was the middle child and I really loved it. It was great being both a little and a big brother.” He smiles sheepishly even though Leslie can’t see him. “I guess I just always imagined having three kids while I was growing up.”

Leslie knows that she shouldn’t prompt him to continue further, but she desperately wants to hear more of his fantasy and his hopes for their lives together, so she asks him what the children in his dreams looked like against her better judgment. He pulls her closer and describes in detail his own family and the effects that his birth order had on his upbringing, followed by the mental images he’d conjured of his future children throughout the years. Admittedly over the years, the imaginative children had been replaced with their real life counterparts, but the youngest child was still missing. A little boy, Ben says, that has Leslie’s hair and Ben’s eyes and whose love for nature rivals that of his mother.

“Okay, fine, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…” Leslie grumbles reluctantly.

“Oh yeah?”

“If it accidentally happens - which it won’t - it wouldn’t be horrible,” she concludes.

“That’s all I need to hear,” Ben smiles and kisses the back of his wife’s head before they drift off to sleep in the comfort of the covers.

* * *

“Leslie,” Ben calls over his shoulder as he digs through his duffel bag in search of a shirt that he knows he packed for the trip. In fact, Ben’s so confident that this particular shirt made its way into his luggage that he would be willing to testify in court in defense of it having crossed the Atlantic with him. But the damn thing is missing. “Babe,” he calls with more force this time.

“What?” Leslie mumbles from beneath the covers. She has no clue what time it is, but as far as she’s concerned, it’s too early for any of this.

“My Camp Cope t-shirt is missing,” Ben replies as he searches his bag for a fourth time. “It’s grey and it has the UFO on the front and I know that I put it in here but I can’t find it.”

“Mhm,” Leslie hums dismissively as she attempts to go back to sleep.

Ben feels his eyes roll as of their own accord and he tosses his other, non-Camp Cope shirts back into his bag. He hypothetically could wear any of the other shirts that he’s brought, but he wants the grey t-shirt specifically for how soft it is. He tries blinking away his frustration before he turns to face Leslie but it returns tenfold with one look at her unalarmed state as she nestles deeper into the warmth of the down comforter. Why doesn’t she also consider this to be a matter of utmost importance as he does?

He’s about to disturb her for a third time when his eyes narrow in on the ends of her hair. If his eyes don’t deceive him, Ben thinks he can make out the faintest glimpse of dark heather fabric from under the blonde strands that fly in varying directions. He slinks silently across the floor and inspects Leslie’s neckline as her chest softly rises and falls in time with her breathing. He has to be absolutely certain of himself if he’s going to ambush her.

Ben is fairly confident. He’s not a betting man, but he would risk a pretty penny that he’s right about this. He digs his fingers into the warm bedding with a smirk and allows his wife a few final moments of peaceful rest.

When Ben decides that now is as good of a time as any, he rips the covers from his wife's body and laughs when she shrieks when the cold air makes contact with her exposed skin. Leslie gasps and shivers as she fumbles for the peeled back layer that had insulated her from the chill of the bedroom, muttering expletives and hurling mild insults his way while doing so.

“Mrs. Wyatt, you are a thief,” Ben grins. 

“Yeah, and you’re a heartless jerk who gets off on other people’s misery!”

Ben just chuckles and grabs a different shirt from the top of his bag. He pulls it on unceremoniously and notes that it’s not nearly as soft as the one that Leslie’s wearing, but she looks too damn cute for him to even consider asking her to take it off. He crawls back into bed beside her and mutters a silent preemptive apology for his brash behavior. In one fell swoop, Ben lifts Leslie’s shirt just enough to place his rather unwarm hands against her stomach.

“Jesus, Ben!” Leslie hisses as she tries to get away from him but he pins her to him until his hands warm and Leslie stops squirming. “You’re a child.”

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he beams in a sing-songy voice.

He isn’t sure when she would’ve had the chance to put clothes on. When they’d both passed out last night, both were far too tired to get redressed - something that Ben had hoped would turn into a morning session of strenuous activity until the extent of his own exhaustion made itself known this morning.

Leslie breathes in deeply. “You smell clean.”

“I had just gotten out of the shower before I realized a crime had gone down while I was sleeping.”

“That sounds really nice. I want a shower,” she hums but makes no effort to get out of bed. “But then I’d have to take your shirt off.” Leslie’s sluggish facade crumbles as she giggles, evidently thrilled with herself for putting Ben into a frenzy just a few moments prior.

“You think this is funny?” Ben growls as he brashly pulls her closer and playfully nips at her earlobe with his teeth. “When did you even put it on?”

Leslie tilts her head so Ben can trail kisses down her neck. “Sometime after we fell asleep. It was still dark out.”

Ben stops when he gets to Leslie's shoulder and admires one of the welts that he formed on her pale skin the night prior. It’s a good thing they’re leaving for home in a few hours because there’s no way Leslie will be able to properly conceal the blemish. Not that Ben really minds, though. If anything, he wishes he could do it more often.

But Leslie’s story seems implausible. He would’ve felt her getting out of bed, either from the loss of pressure or from the loss of her warmth. He also would’ve heard her unzip his bag and rummage through it in search of his prized possession. Or he would’ve been awoken when she inevitably crawled back into bed. But she managed to do all of this without so much as disturbing him.

“I was cold,” Leslie shrugs when he tells her all of this.

“So cold that you put  _ your  _ sweatpants on but took the time to find and wear  _ my  _ shirt?”

“It’s softer than any of mine,” she smiles. “And it smells like you.”

Oh.

Well, he can’t fault her for that.

“You’re pretty lucky that you’re so damn cute,” Ben grumbles as they prepare to drift off for a few more hours of much needed sleep. “Otherwise you’d definitely be giving it back to me right about now.”

* * *

JULY 2017 - WASHINGTON D.C.

Leslie sighs as she comes out of yet another empty room within the White House and turns to her current Secret Service agent. Agent Jeremy Flynn smiles sympathetically at her for her failed efforts and she smiles back weakly, unsure of where her children could have managed to run off to.

“Do you want me to call Charlotte?” Flynn asks.

“No, it’s okay,” Leslie sighs. “Come on, I have one last idea about where they could be.”

The ferocious giggling that grows louder with each step confirms Leslie’s suspicions and she slowly opens the door to the Oval Office so as not to disrupt the proceedings of the room’s occupants. She and Flynn shuffle quietly into the room before softly closing the door behind themselves, trying their best to blend in with their surroundings. The innocent laughter hails from Aiden as he dashes away from his father’s reach, running and stumbling and jumping on the furniture in avoidance during their game of tag.

Ben’s been a good sport for the most part, letting Aiden think he’s faster than his old man for the better part of the game as one does when playfully chasing a toddler. It’s when Aiden tries to hide under the Resolute Desk that Ben has a change of heart though and corners the little boy, triumphantly declaring that Ben’s got him right where he wants him with nowhere to run. Aiden shrieks in delight and his body tenses in preparation of Ben’s wiggling fingers making contact with his body to tickle him, eliciting further giggles and demands for his father to stop his impish behavior. Ben stops at Aiden’s request and pulls him out from underneath the desk, tossing him into the air and beaming at the little boy’s exhilaration.

“Uh oh!” Ben says with over the top theatrics as his hands inch down his son’s small body. He takes a firm hold of Aiden’s ankles and dangles him as they meander through the room. “I have you now, little dude!”

“No, Daddy!” Aiden shouts through a belly laugh and wiggles before trying to grab onto the various furniture that they pass.

Ben’s voice suddenly grows deeper and somewhat mechanical as he tries to imitate Aiden’s favorite movie character. “You are beaten! It is useless to resist! Don’t let yourself be destroyed as Han did!”

“No! Han’s right there!” Aiden giggles and points to the golden retriever puppy that keeps trying to lick his face.

“There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you!” Ben hoists Aiden up so that they’re staring at each other face to face, albeit upside down. “Join me and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy.”

“No!” he protests again and puts his hand gently on top of Ben’s nose.

“If only you knew the power of the dark side!” Ben says more forcefully, his face breaking out into a grin, all semblance of seriousness lost. “Mommy never told you what happened to your father.”

The little boy just laughs again, ready for the punchline.

_ “I  _ am your father!” Ben says dramatically and flips Aiden right side up as he develops into joyful hysterics before hugging him closely.

“You huge nerd,” Leslie heckles her husband from the side of the room. “You have that entire scene memorized? You’re never going to get married.”

“Every man dreams of recreating that scene with his son!”

“MOMMY!” Aiden bellows as Ben places him back on the ground.

He sprints to his mother, just nearly missing knocking his head against the protruding corners of the furniture and Leslie’s heart drops with each narrow avoidance. Aiden barrels into her legs as he hugs her, throwing her balance off and she stumbles backward to stay upright. She realizes with a twinge of sadness that her baby soon will be big enough to completely knock her off her feet.

“Hi Aidy,” Leslie smiles as she squats down to his level. The little boy wraps his arms around her neck and attempts to climb into her lap. “Aiden, honey,” Leslie protests. “That’s a Daddy game, not a Mommy game.”

He stops his squirming and gives her a puzzled look before replacing it with a smile. “Mommy, Sasha sleeps soooo much!”

“She’s a baby, Aidy. That’s what they do.”

Aiden nods his head as if he should’ve known. The dark tresses on the top of his head threaten to spill into his face until Leslie pushes them back with her fingers. He rests his palm on his mother’s pant leg as he vies for her attention despite already having it.

“Mommy, where did you and Daddy go?”

“We went to Paris, baby.”

“Oh. Where’s Paris?”

“It’s a big city in France,” she smiles.

“Oh. Did you and Daddy have fun?” Aiden asks earnestly.

“Mommy had a  _ lot  _ of fun in Paris,” Ben pipes up from his spot in the sitting area, looking entirely too smug for Leslie’s comfort with his arms folded across his chest and pompous stance. Leslie presses her lips together in a tight line because if she doesn’t, she’s afraid that she’ll rebuke Ben which just might make the situation worse.

“Did you?” Aiden turns to her, expecting Leslie to confirm his father’s statement. Leslie presses her lips together more firmly because she can feel the corners of her lips starting to turn upward against her will. She sneaks a look at Ben who gives her a sly wink that makes her heart race.

“I did,” she says truthfully and is relieved that Aiden leaves the conversation at that.

He tugs on Leslie’s hands in excitement, wanting to show her his collection of toy cars and superhero action figures that he’s strategically assembled underneath the Resolute Desk. Leslie takes a seat in Ben’s chair and watches as Aiden backs his tiny body under the desk until his back presses firmly against the wooden front panel. He drives a car up the wall and along the underside as he mimics the sound of a car’s engine, repeating the process a few more times before he seems to forget that he specifically asked his mother to watch him play.

“An exciting morning, from the looks of it,” Leslie smiles when Ben perches himself atop the desk. He lets one of his legs dangle and swing while the other rests against the floor and he shrugs.

“I let Charlotte step out for a bit,” he says. “‘It’s just a preschooler and a baby,’ I thought. ‘How hard could it be?’ Leslie, that woman is a saint and deserves a raise.”

Leslie smiles and leans back in the chair. “That bad, huh?”

“Not bad,” Ben corrects her. “Fatherhood is never  _ bad.  _ But it was busy. I spent most of the morning just holding Sasha until Charlotte came back to put her down for her nap. Then I spent the rest of the morning entertaining this little monster,” Ben grins as he pokes his head under the desk.

“Can I have more candy, Daddy?” Aiden asks politely and adds in some puppy dog eyes for good measure. He grins triumphantly when his father shoves his hand in his pants pocket and retrieves the yellow lozenge. Ben unwraps it and holds it out for his son before stopping short and curling his fingers over the hardened sugar.

“This is the last one, okay?” Ben says sternly. “And don’t be asking your mother for more, either. Do you understand?”

Aiden nods his head and holds his small palm out expectantly.

“What do you say?” Leslie gently reminds her child until he properly thanks Ben for caving.

Under usual circumstances, Leslie would have objected heavily to Ben giving Aiden candy - especially multiple pieces. But she’s still in such a blissful trance from their overseas excursion that nothing can put a damper on her mood - and it’s just a preschooler having a sugar rush. What harm could possibly be done by it?

“Hey,” Leslie taps Ben’s foot with hers to break him from his trance. “What are you doing tonight? Are you working late?”

Ben’s face softens and strains. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I actually have to leave soon.”

Leslie smiles despite herself, trying not to express how his absence truly affects her. “It’s okay. It just makes me even happier that we ran off for a couple of days.”

“One of these days I’m just going to take all of my leave at once so we can spend every day in bed.”

“Ben!” Leslie hisses as she feels her face begin to flush. She glances pointedly in Aiden’s direction as if to remind Ben of his presence.

“Hey, I meant it literally! It’s not my fault if your mind goes to other places.” He rises with a wink and leaves her with a parting kiss.

“Baby,” Leslie calls after Ben which prompts him to stop sharply on his heel. “You’re forgetting something!”

Ben’s face falls into a grin. He knows exactly what his wife is alluding to. “I lost. You won.”

Leslie swoons and closes her eyes as her mind drifts. She imagines Ben being ushered to the back of The Beast, the Cadillac One used specifically to charter him around the city, from meetings to press appearances to late night ice cream runs that Leslie may or may not have been an accomplice to. The whole thing is so official and so sexy that it’s hard to not let herself get carried away. Ben may be the leader of the free world, but Leslie knows him better than anyone else, knows exactly how to work him to get him to bend to her will. If he’s the most powerful man in the world, then she’s easily the most powerful woman in the world.

Leslie’s musings and fantasies are interrupted by the weight of a tiny hand on her knee. When she looks downward, she sees Aiden rolling one of the toy cars against her pant leg with a sweet, wide-eyed look of eagerness that only a child can pull off.

“Mommy,” he whispers before crawling into her lap as grunts of surprise and frailty spill involuntarily from Leslie’s lips as Aiden’s bony knees dig into her flesh. He cuddles up to her, burying his face in the ends of her hair and giggling profusely. “Mommy, can I  _ pleaseeee _ have  _ one  _ more candy?”

She ought to tell him no and reprimand him for blatantly disregarding his father, but she’s in far too good a headspace. Plus, the kid really knows how to play a person to his advantage. Leslie realizes that that is going to become a much bigger problem than she will ever be able to prepare herself for, but she’s fortunate to have a few more years before Aiden realizes this as well. Leslie reaches for the top right drawer of the Resolute Desk, curling her fingers around the curved handle before giving it a tug.

The drawer doesn’t budge, however, which seems odd to her. She attempts it a second time and is still unsuccessful.  _ The damn thing only holds pens and candy - what reason would Ben possibly have to lock the drawer? _ Leslie thinks, a bit miffed. Her rate begins to rise exponentially and she can feel each agonizing pump of blood along the side of her neck.

_ There’s no reason to panic,  _ she reasons with herself. There’s a multitude of reasons that he could’ve locked the drawer. Maybe he’d received some sort of sensitive information and he stashed it in there in a rush. Leslie checks the other drawers of the desk to test her theory, her heart sinking further and further with each compartment that she’s able to effortlessly open. It’s not until she flips a paper over containing confidential information regarding Iran’s nuclear program that the gravity of that supposedly innocent drawer being locked truly hits her. If Ben didn’t deem  _ that  _ information to be substantial enough to keep protected from wandering eyes, then what is it that he’s trying to hide from her?

Leslie’s attention fixates on the intricate carving on the side of the desk as she attempts to maintain her composure - if not for her sake, then at least for Aiden’s. Her mind betrays her and begins to visualize Ben with Rosalyn even though Leslie has no legitimate reason to believe that the Speaker of the House would be involved in this in any capacity. But she can’t shake the feeling that  _ something  _ isn’t right regarding Rosalyn’s relationship with her husband. He doesn’t even see her as often as he did during his term as a senator, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Leslie to stomach the times that he  _ does  _ do business with her.

“Mommy?” Aiden questions, his expression unreadable - something that Leslie finds remarkable considering his youth.

“Come on,” she says while formulating a faux smile. “Let’s try the kitchen.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry about the wait, but rest assured that I still have so much more about this story to tell. :)

JULY 2017 - WASHINGTON DC

Leslie hears them talking in hushed murmurs behind her as she stares disinterestedly at the dinner on her plate. The gesture is nice, she supposes. At least they’re trying to be considerate. But she can hear every reticent word coming from Flynn’s mouth as he briefs Shepherd on the occurrences of his now ending shift. Aiden sits across from Leslie at the dining table, his own plate hardly touched as he has spent the majority of their mealtime fishing for answers from Ben for all of his questions about the world and its intricacies (which Ben had answered happily).

“Aiden, eat your broccoli, please,” Leslie requests rather harshly before deflating at the sound of her own voice.

It’s the only subject that Flynn hasn’t broached yet - probably because Ben happens to be present. But she’d spent the majority of the afternoon in a sour mood after not being able to open that drawer and she knows that everyone in the general vicinity can sense her agitation. Her child shoots an apprehensive look her way before taking a bite of his vegetables.

Ben seems to want to ask her what the hell is wrong with her but decides against it. Instead, he nudges her with his foot underneath the table and she catches his attention, glowering in response to his look of concern.

“Is everything alright?”

Leslie nods in response to her husband’s question before mumbling an excuse of having no appetite as she pushes herself up from the table. She gives her son a kiss on the top of his head before leaving the dining room with no further attention being directed towards Ben. He knows better than to believe Leslie, but he also knows not to follow a woman when she’s angry with him. He just wishes he had a clue as to why Leslie’s upset with him. The agents predictably slink along behind Leslie and watch as she paces the same dozen or so feet in the hallway with her emotions bubbling just below the surface. 

“Ma’am-”

“Which one of you is working right now?” Leslie barks despite already knowing the answer and Flynn leaves with a dramatic bow. “I want to get out of here. I don’t care where we go, I just don’t want to be here right now.”

Shepherd gives Leslie a look that she can’t quite place before he nods and grabs a set of keys from the foyer table before he flings open the door to the North Portico. Leslie trails swiftly behind him as they clamor down the front steps towards a black Chevy suburban that waits in the driveway. Shepherd opens the passenger door for Leslie and helps her in before climbing into the driver’s seat, turning the radio on the quietest volume setting before pulling off the White House grounds.

They drive nearly half an hour into southwestern Maryland before they pull up to a security checkpoint seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It’s hard to pick out their surroundings due to the absence of sunlight as well as the dense forestry surrounding the narrow road, but Leslie still cranes her neck in an effort to place where they’re at with no success. Shepherd flashes his credentials to a man wearing a tactical vest over his navy blue uniform shirt, the white lettering of his federal agency displayed clearly across the front of the vest. The man’s eyes narrow in suspicion upon recognizing Leslie but he hands the plastic identification card back to Shepherd without protest. Shep takes two right turns followed by a left turn to park before a massive, desolate strip of asphalt.

“Alright, get out,” Shep chuckles before he climbs down from the driver’s seat.

Leslie just blinks at the dashboard of the SUV, watching Shepherd saunter around the front of the vehicle towards the passenger side. She doesn’t make any effort to move. He approaches the passenger door and raps gently on the window with his knuckles, waiting patiently as Leslie rolls the glass down. He rests his forearms along the now-open window and props his chin up on the back of his wrists, gazing up at Leslie with what might be best described as a look of boyish excitement.

“What?” Leslie asks when she notices the smile that he’s trying so hard to suppress.

“Come on, you’re going to drive the course.”

Leslie looks apprehensively at the cones on the ground. They don’t seem too close together, but she notices that the curves in the course seem to get closer and closer together. She shakes her head reprehensibly. There’s absolutely no way.

“Switch with me,” he goads her on. His grin widens wickedly. “That is if you aren’t too afraid to drive it.”

She rolls her eyes, mostly because it’s low of him to bait her like this but also because she knows that she’ll fall for it. Leslie unbuckles herself to Shepherd’s amusement and he opens the door for her, but she crawls over the center console in an act of stubborn defiance. He climbs into her formerly occupied seat and smirks as she pulls the seat significantly closer to the steering wheel, a glimmer of some undefined emotion in his eyes. Leslie wonders if it might be arrogance, but it seems softer than that. It seems more affectionate.

“It’s just some plastic cones,” Leslie huffs.

“Sure, but they’re stand-ins for larger things. More damaging things. Like walls and other cars and little old women.”

Leslie laughs at the mental image of someone’s grandmother just narrowly being missed by a motorcade flying at high speed before deciding that the scenario isn’t nearly as funny as she initially thought. Driving fast implies something terrible has happened to her or her family.

“Just drive it comfortably,” Shepherd instructs her. “Don’t worry about the speed. Aim for accuracy.”

Leslie stares at what she can see of the dark course before wiggling in her seat to shake out the jitters. She could do this. She’s just driving it like any other time she’s driven a car. She flips the high beams on and Shepherd laughs.

“It’s fine,” he finally says. “In the actual test, you’re not allowed to use the high beams though. It’s proctored as if you’re in the real world and you might blind another driver if you have your brights on.”

Leslie makes a face that mocks him and his expertise before she presses down on the gas pedal. The car takes off smoothly from the spot where Shepherd had stopped it earlier and they coast through the cones at Leslie’s guidance. She weaves between a series of cones at her agent’s instruction and drives around a turn, breathing a bit easier now that she’s managed to complete the entire thing without incident.

“Punch it,” Shepherd commands from the passenger seat, but Leslie isn’t sure that she heard him correctly. He’s fucking crazy if her ears aren’t playing tricks on her.

“What?!”

“Floor it!”

Leslie’s eyes scan his face in some sort of desperate plea for him to be kidding, but he remains entirely serious. A soft, unsure groan escapes her lips and she turns her attention back to the asphalt before slamming her foot down on the gas pedal. The engine roars to life and they take off with the sound of the tires screeching against the pavement. She can see the asphalt of the driving course coming to a rapid end as they barrel towards the main road and she tenses, unsure of what to do.

“Kill the gas!” Shepherd shouts over the mechanical roaring.

Leslie’s foot instantly comes off the pedal and the car immediately starts to lose its speed, but the greenery is still creeping up on them much too soon for her comfort.

“Lean into the turn, okay?”

“What?!” Leslie screams. “Are you insane?!”

“Just trust me!” He barks back. “Once you’re in the turn you’re going to turn the wheel the other way, but don’t jerk it!”

Leslie whimpers and fights the urge to clench her eyes shut. She has half a mind to slam on the breaks and put an end to all of this madness, but it’s too late. She doesn’t have a choice but to carefully heed his advice lest she causes the SUV to flip and potentially kill them both in an explosion. She turns the wheel to the left and the car obeys her only momentarily before Shepherd’s arm flies out to grab her hand on top of the wheel.

They’re skidding.

“You got it, you got it, you got it!” Shep hollers words of encouragement over Leslie’s uneasy cries and gently pulls the wheel towards himself. “Countersteer!”

Leslie directs the wheel the rest of the way and the vehicle starts to circle back towards the direction they’d been driving from. The car finally evens out and she prompts it to a smooth stop, trembling through her labored breathing. When she finally musters enough courage to look up, she sees Shepherd beaming at her. She ought to slap that triumphant grin off his face.

“You just drifted,” Shepherd says proudly. Leslie just moans in response, her brain too amped on adrenaline to formulate a proper response. She might very well be sick in the near future.

“Why?” Leslie pants and she notices just how tightly she’s clutching the steering wheel when she sees her white knuckles. “Why would you tell me to do that?”

“The most important thing when a situation becomes uncontrollable is knowing how to stop,” he says sagely before he sighs. “I don’t know what happened today when I wasn’t there. But you have more power than you realize. It’s not something that anyone in this city will ever tell you because they benefit from your discomfort, but you can put an end to anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

Leslie leans into the firmness of the driver’s seat. She closes her eyes and tries to focus on her breathing so that she doesn’t dwell on the mortal terror that’s still coursing through her veins nor the pain that’s reemerging when she thinks of what Ben might possibly be hiding from her. “It’s not always that simple.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just smiles empathetically until Leslie exits the vehicle in an unspoken request that he go back to driving. Shepherd stands awkwardly in front of her beside the passenger door before, in a surge of confidence, he takes her hand and assists Leslie back up into the raised SUV before carefully closing the door.

“Alright,” he says and directs the vehicle back to the beginning of the course after adjusting the seat back to the proper distance. He flips the brights off. “You ready for the real thing?”

“Hell no,” Leslie mutters under her breath. Shepherd laughs airily and rests his arm on the center console, his other hand draping mindlessly over the wheel.

“It’ll be fine.”

His grip tightens around the leather as he prepares to launch them into the course and he sees Leslie tense beside him. Her own hand flocks to the supposed safety of the console as she clutches onto it for dear life, her pinky and ring finger curling around the knuckles of his pinky for an added sense of security. With his heart hammering in his chest, Shepherd floors the gas and weaves through the first set of cones with ease.

He drifts around the narrow corner as the rubber squeals beneath them, evening out in time to weave through the second set of cones in a line before taking a harsh jerk to the left. The cones form a blockade and Leslie’s brain scrambles to find a feasible way that Shep will get around the barrier. Instead, he throws the SUV into reverse and they fly backward down the course until he whips the steering wheel to the right, causing the vehicle to pivot until it reorients itself. He drifts in a circle and positions himself properly in the middle of the course again, glancing over his shoulder in preparation.

“What the-” Leslie’s eyes widen in terror when she realizes what’s about to happen. “Samuel, don’t you dare!” She screeches, but he disregards her.

Once again, Shepherd slams his foot to the ground and they hurl backward through the course, taking turns at full speed in reverse and weaving back through the cones they’d just come through only moments earlier. He performs another Rockford turn and hurtles them back towards the entrance of the course. Leslie catches a glimpse of the radar speedometer as they bend around one final turn going well over thirty miles per hour and she feels her stomach drop. Shep brings the car to a smooth yet quick halt and blows against his nails pompously as if to indicate that every crazy feat he’d just pulled off was no big deal.

“Jesus, Sam,” Leslie huffs while still clutching his hand. He’s a terrific driver, no doubt about it. But Leslie has absolutely _no_ desire to experience something like that ever again - especially in a real-world application. He just laughs at her flustered state.

“Flynn and I used to come out here to blow off steam. We’d race each other or try to complete the course faster with each run and the loser had to buy beer for the winner. Other times we’d run mock pursuits, god forbid we ever need to actually chase someone down.”

“I’m not questioning your competence,” she counters shakily as she runs her sweating palms over her thighs. “Just your sanity.” She stares out at the access road as they sit idling. A patrol car drives by slowly but doesn’t seem bothered by their presence. She then is struck by a realization. “Shit, I’ve been calling you by your first name. I’m sorry.”

He just smiles softly. “Don’t worry about it. I like it.”

* * *

“Where are we going?” Leslie asks after they make it back within the city limits. Maybe she’s asked that question one too many times because Sam just rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Despite not being allowed to drive herself any longer, she knows her way around the city and if they were heading back to the White House, he would’ve continued along the highway rather than exiting prematurely.

“I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours,” Shepherd says lightly but the proposition makes Leslie grow cold once more. There’s some sore spot that he keeps inadvertently touching upon which is the exact opposite of what he wants to do, but she’s not exactly making things easy for him. He doesn’t know how to tiptoe around the subject without knowing what tense moment he’s meant to be avoiding discussing.

Leslie folds her arms across her chest indicating that the conversation is now over, no ifs, ands, or buts. There’s no way to get through to her when she gets like this, there’s no thawing of the metaphorical ice between them, there’s no amount of gentle words that will coax her out from the self-imposed confines of her overactive mind. If anyone were to ask (and not that they would) he’d say that it’s easily her biggest character flaw.

Shepherd barely has time to put the car in park before Leslie flies out the passenger door and onto the rocky texture of the concrete pavement. He follows not far behind her as she completely ignores lush patches of green grass and extravagant displays of plant life in a beeline towards the glass doors of the main building. She stops suddenly, unable to pull the door open as the result of her irritation that is currently manifesting as restlessness and nervous shaking. Shepherd cocks his head as if to unobtrusively assess her wellbeing, but Leslie shrugs and turns abruptly on the spot.

Off in the distance above the treeline is the illuminated dome of the Capitol building, towering almost menacingly over the city’s tiny, insignificant inhabitants. It’s a reminder of dreamers past, a beacon of hope for those many individuals that dared to address injustice towards the promise that their children may lead a more prosperous life. That the American dream would be accessible to all citizens. That anyone’s destiny could be whatever they make of it. Perhaps it used to mean that for Leslie, too, but not anymore. Now the Capitol just reminds her of the futility of her dreams.

“Let’s go,” she says, her expression shifting from irritated to impatient to excited all in a matter of seconds. The fluidity is a cause of concern for Leslie’s ever-present shadow but she graces him with a smile which is enough to dissuade his concern for the time being.

Shep pulls her gently by the arm to an inconspicuous door on the side of the building and they step into the deserted visitor’s center of the United States Botanic Garden. The frigidness of the air conditioning chills her exposed skin and she shivers despite only just stepping out from the warm summer night. They enter through another set of doors into the conservatory and Leslie takes a deep breath as the humid air hits her face. The door closes with a snap that echoes through the long hallway that startles some small birds from their hiding spots within the large plants. Leslie looks up in awe at them as they fly overhead before realizing that she can see the stars in the sky through the vaulted glass ceiling. Her voice catches in her throat and for a moment, she’s not the First Lady, or a mother, or a wife.

She’s just Leslie.

“How did you…?”

“I called in a favor,” Shep says proudly before laughing at her floored expression. “Well don’t just stand there. Come on.”

Leslie follows him past a narrow fountain that’s been embedded in the concrete floor, admiring each blue, teal, and purple tile as the fountain distorts the water’s surface. She reaches out to run her fingers along the waxy leaves of a tropical plant at Sam’s prompting but she doesn’t really get any of this. Beyond appreciating the plants’ obvious beauty, she doesn’t really understand the appeal of visiting the gardens.

Sam leads her into a small room that, after reading the name on the plaque, Leslie recognizes as the west gallery. With the lights on their dimmest setting, she can only make out the briefest features of each painting. Shepherd allows her to peruse the gallery at her own pace and she leans into each portrait and placard before pausing underneath the massive, living piece composed of white and brown flowers hanging on the wall.

“‘Then I wished that I could come back as a flower,’” Leslie reads the brown flowers aloud.

“You’d be a rose,” a gentle voice says from behind her, catching her off guard. She can feel him behind her despite not actually touching, but that would change if she so much as leans back on her heels. She knows how firm his chest feels pressed against her back and she knows that the knot in his tie won’t dig into her shoulder blade because of their height difference, but she shouldn’t know these things. Knowing them implies having given it some consideration, and she definitely hasn’t done that. Not until now, at least.

“What?” Leslie finally croaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

She feels his chest rise before feeling the warmth of his breath on her ear. “You would be a rose if you were a flower.”

He makes it sound like it’s fact or, at the very least, a widely accepted belief but she doesn’t know why. She’s just… average. Some woman from a small town in the midwest. She isn’t tall or cunning or cultured, she doesn’t unapologetically wear red lipstick, and she doesn’t stand her ground if it means that she’ll get what she wants. Not like she used to, at least. She’s short and awkward and… blonde. Something that she’s never felt insecure about before.

“They’re beautiful and fragrant, but few people appreciate them in their natural state,” Sam replies while Leslie turns so that she can face him, her arms folded across her chest as she waits for him to continue. “Roses have thorns to protect themselves from things that may hurt them, but people don’t want to be inconvenienced so they’re cut off. It’s only when roses are stripped of their defenses that most people admire them.”

Leslie nods sullenly because all of a sudden she can see the forest for the trees. It’s only when they’re stripped raw and trimmed prematurely that roses become a symbol of love and she wonders how long she’s been letting Ben make her feel helpless in the name of love. Surely prior to election day.

“The American people don’t like roses,” Shepherd says gently. “They like the idea of roses. But part of their beauty lies within the thorns… so keep your thorns.”

Leslie turns to face him before finding that she’s too flustered to do so. She stares at their feet as they stand toe to toe. “You think roses are beautiful?”

“Well… Who wouldn’t?” Shepherd asks sheepishly.

A ghost of a smile plays at Leslie’s lips before she turns and passes through the meager rare and endangered section. She continues her quick pace through the Mediterranean exhibit, the sound of flowing water echoing throughout the compact greenhouse. She smiles impishly while casting a look over her shoulder at Sam who quickly catches onto her plans. He begins to protest but Leslie kicks off the backs of her heels and climbs onto the small ledge of the fountain. He hooks his fingers around the straps of her shoes and stands before her, unimpressed with his hands on his hips.

“Get down.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you could slip and then I’ll have to explain why we were trespassing at the botanic garden.”

“I’m not going to slip.”

He begrudgingly pushes his hand into hers as she takes a step on the edge of the concrete for additional support. She walks along the edge of the water on her tiptoes, just barely towering over Sam and their intertwined fingers. She makes it to the end of the curved fountain without incident and hops down, dropping Shep’s hand and motioning for her shoes.

Through another sliding doorway is the orchid section, complete with a rainforest theme and a flowing waterfall. Leslie dreamily reaches above her head to feel the vines and she spins in a circle, sighing and instructing Sam to look at how beautiful everything is. He agrees, not once taking his eyes off of her.

They wind through the area of the conservatory that houses the tropical plants, passing over a bridge that’s been designed to look like a fallen tree trunk and admiring the large, waxy leaves of the shrubbery as they pass. Leslie eyes a looping metal set of stairs that lead to the suspended walkway about three-quarters of the way up along the conservatory’s towering glass walls and she hums as she sets off towards them, unconcerned with whether or not her agent’s following behind her.

The clanking of their weight on the steps echoes through the massive chamber, bouncing off the walls and forcing its way back into Leslie’s hollow chest to remind her of just how _alone_ she felt earlier. Part of the feeling lingers, but it’s mostly been forced out thanks to Shepherd. 

She stops at one of the balconies along the walkway, choosing to walk right up to the edge instead of making herself comfortable on one of the benches behind her. She can barely make anything out in the dark of the night except for the trunk of a palm tree that she could reach out and touch if she pleases and the sound of flowing water of the artificial stream that’s beneath them. She puts her hands on the rail and concentrates on the coolness of the metal against the skin of her palms as Shepherd takes his place beside her, their bodies a few inches apart.

He’s not sure of how to approach Leslie or how to address her various fleeting emotional states. She’s always been happy in all the time that he’s known her, so he has absolutely nothing prepared for tonight’s near-breakdowns and energetic outbursts.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Leslie laughs sardonically before turning back gloomily to stare at what she can make out of the dark lower level. There’s a long pause followed by the quietest exhale. “I think Ben is cheating on me.”

Shepherd doesn’t respond. The words make sense in his mind, but the actual concept of anyone cheating on Leslie feels outlandish to him. It actually baffles him that someone could not only _have_ Leslie but would risk _losing_ her for someone else. He swallows and opens his mouth to speak but finds that he’s too taken aback to say anything.

“Why do you think that?”

Leslie sighs and bites on her lower lip. “He’s hiding something from me. I don’t know what else it could be.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to say and even that sounds incredibly lackluster to his own ears. But he doesn’t really know how else to respond. “That’s terrible.”

The last of her resolve crumbles away piece by piece and she tries to halt the tears before they fall from her eyes with no success. They stream readily and silently until Leslie later manages to calm herself down and swipes at the wetness on her face with the back of her wrists.

“I guess I’m just not enough,” she mumbles.

Sam’s body jerks with a silent laugh. 

“You are more than enough.” He feels himself drifting closer to her without conscious effort, their hands inching nearer and nearer until their pinkies brush. “You are the sun, the moon, and the stars combined. You’re the first sip of coffee in the morning and night drives with the windows down. You’re the warm feeling you get when you sit in the sun. There are days where I feel like I’m drowning and you? You’re like coming up for air.”

Leslie sniffs and she’s suddenly aware of his finger resting on top of hers but she can’t seem to pull away. “This city makes me feel so small.”

“It’s not the big moments that make life worth living, Leslie. Sure, they’re memorable, but it’s the small things that carry us through from day to day. There’s no shame in being small. Small is powerful. Small is enough.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just turns to face him as his heart hammers away furiously in his chest. He’s afraid that he’s said too much or crossed a boundary that she’d rather he hadn’t, but he keeps his finger on top of hers for the time being. She takes a step closer.

“You called me Leslie,” she whispers. “No one calls me Leslie anymore and I wish they would. It’s the only part of me that hasn’t been stolen by the presidency.”

He takes her hand fully in his and finds that she doesn’t balk, she doesn’t protest, and she doesn’t seem to mind the added warmth radiating from his palm. He pulls their hands gently from the railing before he slips his fingers between hers and she graces him with a smile, her blue eyes brimming with the remnants of the tears she’d shed earlier. Though she tries to feign indifference, it’s all too obvious how she really feels about her husband’s secrecy.

Shepherd takes another step towards her, completely aware that what he’s doing is wrong and that the circumstances aren’t ideal. He’s pushing his luck just holding her hand and the line that is professional integrity is so far in the past that he can’t remember if he is even _allowed_ to call her by her first name. But she angles her chin ever so slightly upward as if expecting more from him than just this elementary display of affection and he forgets every boundary, every rule, every oath that he’s made to uphold for their mutual protection. None of that means anything to him when she allows him to push the hair from her face and lower his lips to hers.

Leslie isn’t sure how many times he kisses her. She’s able to count to three before she loses track on account of him pulling her flush against his body. She allows herself to run her hand down the front of his shirt, feeling each contour of muscle beneath the pads of her fingers as she slips her hand under the fabric of his open jacket. He’s warm and familiar and inviting but when she breathes deeply she can smell his aftershave, and suddenly he’s cold and distant and wrong.

Her eyes peel open and she realizes what’s happening with an exponentially increasing sense of dread overtaking her. Leslie cries against his mouth and shoves Shepherd forcefully away, her body trembling as she fights back hot tears of regret.

“Les-”

“We can’t do this!” Leslie shouts, and the crossing of her arms across her chest indicates to Shepherd that she means every word she says. “We- I- Husband,” she stammers. “Ben. I have Ben.”

He wants to protest and remind her of her earlier revelation but he doesn’t want to upset her. He doesn’t want to risk losing her in his life because of a spur of jealousy. “I’m sorry.”

“I think I’d really like to go home now,” she whispers and sets off towards the stairs, leaving Sam to trail after her once more.

* * *

The drive back is nothing short of torture. Leslie had considered crawling into the back of the SUV in an effort to distance herself from Shepherd but she didn’t want to make him feel even worse by letting on just how shaken she was by the events in the conservatory. So she sits awkwardly in the passenger seat as he drives them back to the White House, trying not to make eye contact with him even though his attention is completely on the road.

She feels incredibly naive. If she looks back at the last year that she’s known Shepherd, the signs seem ridiculously obvious. And she has to wonder - did she subconsciously know all along? Perhaps, Leslie thinks painfully. But she isn’t certain. If she had been aware of his affection for her she definitely wouldn’t have let it get to this point. He’s just such a good friend and companion; why’d he have to go and ruin everything by kissing her?

Leslie knows the proper thing to do is to disclose what happened with his leadership and have him reassigned, but a part of her fears that he might be terminated as a result - and she doesn’t want to be the reason why Shepherd loses his job. Plus there’s her selfish motivation to keep the only friend that she truly has in Washington.

She goes back and forth with her decision to keep it a secret. Over and over and over. Surely not saying anything is a risk to her safety? God forbid that his mind be elsewhere when a threat poses itself. But then again, did he mean to do it? Maybe it was a mistake. They were standing rather close.

 _No, it couldn’t have been,_ Leslie decides. _You don’t just kiss someone like that by accident._

She doesn’t know what to say when they’re stuck waiting at yet another red light. Sam’s watch glimmers in the streetlights that shine through the windshield as his wrist drapes over the steering wheel. He gazes mindlessly out of the driver’s window, his hand covering his mouth while his elbow rests uncomfortably against the door.

She wants to ask him what he’s thinking about, but there’s no need. He’s obviously preoccupied with avoiding the elephant in the room as well. There’s only so much twiddling of her thumbs that Leslie can do before she’ll go insane, though, so she braces herself against the center console before aggressively turning the radio on.

The station defaults to a news station and Leslie tenses, unsure of what the headlines will hold for the evening - but anything’s got to be better than this. She hears Ben’s voice play through the speakers and she groans. It’s just her luck.

The station’s playing excerpts from a press briefing Ben had held earlier to discuss the plan to move forward with a clean energy resolution and the question and answer session seems kosher until Ben calls on a gentleman apparently sitting in the third row.

_“Can you comment on the allegations surrounding your daughter’s paternity?”_

Leslie can practically hear Ben’s body posture tensing through the radio. There’s a brief pause and Leslie isn’t sure if it’s because her husband is growing frustrated that there’s still interest in the rumor even two months later or if it’s because there’s a chance that he still thinks there’s some truth in it.

_“There’s nothing to comment on. The allegations are entirely baseless. To insinuate otherwise is an attack not only on my little girl but also an attack on my wife’s character. Criticize the administration all you want, but my family is off-limits.”_

Leslie flips the radio back off and folds her arms across her chest, becoming suddenly interested in the storefronts and government buildings lining the streets on the remainder of their drive. She twirls her wedding band nervously around her finger, trying to assuage the guilt that’s starting to form after realizing that she’s technically been with another man.

They pull onto the White House grounds unceremoniously. Shepherd kills the engine by removing the key and they sit in the driveway, now completely enveloped by the silence. The upper levels of the house are dark except for two bedrooms - the master bedroom and Aiden’s - and Leslie stares out at the lights, waiting for Aiden’s to turn off.

“Ma’am, I didn’t mean anything by it - by what happened earlier.”

Leslie looks at Sam trying his best to be sincere and her heart aches. Despite his best intentions, there’s nothing that he could do or say that would make her believe him.

“It was just a kiss. A spur of the moment, trying-to-make-you-feel-better sort of thing. Clearly, that wasn’t the way.”

Leslie sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Shep, do you have feelings for me?”

“No!”

“I need to know. For my sake and for Ben’s.”

“Oh, god,” Shepherd groans and presses his palms to his face. “He’s going to kill me!”

”Honey,” Leslie coos and grabs his hand before she realizes what she’s done. She knows that she should let go but her nerve returns and she tightens her grip on him. “I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened, okay? But you need to tell me if you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Sam,” she pleads. There’s a pang of guilt when he flinches at the sound of his first name, but it quickly disappears.

“It was an accident! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“You kept kissing me,” Leslie mumbles weakly.

“You kissed me back each time!” He shifts his eyes away and yanks his hand from her before taking his frustration out on the steering wheel. The car lets out a pathetic honk - one that is only perceptible to someone that might happen to be nearby.

“How far would you have gone if I hadn’t put an end to things?” Leslie asks after a moment’s silence.

“I could ask the same thing of you.”

“That’s not fair, Sam.”

“Neither is you interrogating me,” he counters with a groan. “It meant nothing.”

Leslie allows the words to wash over her. Three tiny, meaningless words that aren’t supposed to hurt her, but they sting just the same. She wishes she believed him - that she could take what he says at face value. She just nods instead.

“Don’t look at me like that. Please.”

Her face softens at the pain in his voice. “Like what?”

“Like I’ve just ruined my most meaningful friendship.”

Her heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. She wouldn’t consider their relationship ruined - she wouldn’t even consider it damaged. But there’s a strain that Leslie isn’t sure how best to remove, or if it even _can_ be removed. Every tender interaction, every stolen glance from across the room, every irrational bout of jealousy from Ben suddenly falls into place, like she found the missing piece of the puzzle that prevented its completion until just now.

“How are we going to move past this?” she asks quietly.

“Is that not what we’re doing right now?”

Leslie’s taken aback and unable to respond. She supposes it is.

“Okay then,” Shepherd breathes shakily. “The only way out is through.”

“Yeah,” Leslie mumbles in agreement. “The only way out is through…”

* * *

Ben’s just coming out from Aiden’s bedroom when Leslie makes it to the top of the stairs. He looks up from the ground after closing the door and his expression hardens after spotting her but he takes her hand and directs them to their bedroom at the opposite end of the long hall. He prompts his wife to enter and waits patiently for her to oblige in his request before calmly closing the door behind them. He might seem relaxed if it weren’t for his hands on his narrow hips and the curl of his lip.

“‘Why is Mommy mad at me?’” Ben says finally while staring down at Leslie as she sits at the edge of the bed. “That’s what Aiden asked me earlier.”

Leslie deflates at the information. Her baby felt horrible because of something she’d done or said and she didn’t even realize it. 

“Well, what did you say?” Leslie asks tearfully.

“That you were tired, I don’t know.” His brows furrow together. “Look, I don’t know why you’re upset but we don’t handle things that way. We don’t fight in front of the kids. Are we clear?”

Leslie nods but she only partially recognizes what he’s said. She’s too preoccupied with worrying about Aiden.

“I grew up wondering if every disagreement my parents had was going to end in a divorce and I’m not putting my kids through that.”

She stands and makes towards the door but Ben catches her wrist. “I want to see him. I want to talk to him.”

“He’s asleep and we’re not done here, Leslie. Why are you shutting me out?”

She wishes he’d drop his hold on her wrist, but he uses it to anchor her to the spot. Not unkindly or harshly, but it’s leverage nonetheless. She can’t think about why she feels this way, much less tell him why. She’s going to cry and he knows it.

“Leslie?”

Her name is all it takes. Even with her eyes clenched shut, the waterworks erupt with fervor and her chest heaves with a silent gasp for air.

“Why do you spend so much time around Rosalyn?”

It’s a simple question and one that he should have a better answer to, at that. Because he has to work with the House if there’s a chance to pass legislation. Because Rosalyn regrettably wields a lot of power over the lower house of Congress. But his reply sounds weak even to himself, even if it is the truth.

“Why do you ask?” Ben asks gently afterward before he comes to know why. “Honey… You know that I cannot stand her.”

Leslie just smiles wistfully. “Not like you used to.”

“I…” He feels ambushed. “I can’t just blow her off like before, Leslie. I have to-“

“I know, ‘be bipartisan’. But it doesn’t feel like that… It feels like something more.”

There’s some unrecognizable feeling in his chest, maybe some combination of disbelief and anger and… hurt? Now he gets why she reacted the way she did two months ago. 

“Well, it’s not…”

Leslie nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer. He finally drops her hand and she moves back towards the door, wanting to crawl into the bed that’s far too big for her son’s tiny body. It doesn’t matter if he’s currently asleep or if his prior concern is now a thing of the past - she wants to hug her little boy tight and she wants him to wake up feeling nothing less than absolutely adored by his mother. She’ll even let him eat ice cream for breakfast if he asks, that’s how horrible she feels about this.

“Leslie,” Ben calls as she’s halfway out the door. He sighs, a regretful, pained look on his face. “She’ll be here next month for more strategic meetings. It’s only business.”

She nods her head once more and closes the door behind her.

* * *

SEPTEMBER 2018

Shepherd’s musing is interrupted by the sound of plastic clinking against the glass desktop and eventually landing on the floor with a thud. He had taken Leslie up to her office at her request so she could try to collect her thoughts, but she’d spent the majority of the time so far just staring at the white paper of one of her legal pads, pen in hand and poised for the ready. From the looks of it, she hasn’t been successful in jotting any of her thoughts down. Leslie’s hand trembles as she continues to gaze mindlessly at the paper that’s before her, her face ashen and recluse with her pen nowhere in sight.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks from across the desk.

With a glance at Leslie’s current state and her pen still lying motionless on the floor, however, he realizes that it’s a stupid question. He pushes himself up from the chair that he’d sunken into about half an hour earlier and collects her pen. He places it next to Leslie’s hand and smiles sheepishly but she doesn’t react. She doesn’t so much as thank him. She turns to him after a moment, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I lost my favorite pen, Sam,” Leslie whispers, her voice full of sorrow.

Shepherd reaches into the interior pocket of his jacket and retrieves a pen for her, but Leslie declines it. He scrunches his face in confusion. The last thing he wants is to upset her further.

“There’s a pen right here,” he says gently because how is he meant to reason with her when she’s having a breakdown over misplacing a pen? She just smiles delicately, that look that he’s becoming all too familiar with - the one that she uses to mask her heartbreak to make others more comfortable at the expense of her own healing. “What’s wrong with this pen?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. It is… absolutely perfect. But it’s not my pen.”

She sniffs and the realization comes crashing over him that they’re not actually talking about Leslie’s preferred writing instrument.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles for what seems like the millionth time since Detroit. Maybe it was. He’ll have to start keeping track. “I can’t… bring your pen back, Leslie.”

Leslie swivels in her chair, an action that takes Shepherd by surprise. Her fingertips slip between his before hesitating as if to ask permission to touch him like this - something that used to come so mindlessly to both of them. He threads his fingers the rest of the way through and pulls her from her seat. She wobbles until she finds her footing with the help of one of Shepherd’s steadying hands on her shoulder.

“I really wanted to save him, Leslie.”

“I know you did,” she says softly.

It’s not enough by any means, but it’ll have to be. For now, at least.

“Sam,” Leslie chokes as a single tear cascades down her face. “Sam, I’m so tired. I can’t sleep anymore, I can’t do it, he’s there, he’s there every time I close my eyes and I can see him and I can feel him but I can’t do anything about it, he’s haunting me, he-”

Shepherd pulls her to his body, fully expecting her to tense before breaking down into sobs, but the meltdown doesn’t happen. Instead, she buries her face against his chest and melts into his embrace, her own arms slinking around his waist as she continues to shake violently. He smooths her hair into place with the stroke of his hand and kisses her temple.

“You’re going to get through this,” he says. “Okay? We’ll get past this.”

Leslie just nods furiously and despite her clenched eyes, she can feel herself being pulled towards the far corner of her office where a couch sits with its back to a large window. It’s not until her body rests atop his that Leslie realizes what Shepherd is encouraging (or demanding) her to do. She burrows into the space between his torso and the soft backing, her neck craned as she looks apprehensively at him.

“I don’t want to have another nightmare,” Leslie mumbles, her voice just barely audible. Shepherd nods and coaxes her back down so that her head is resting in the crook of his neck.

“I’ll wake you if you do.”

This seems to satisfy Leslie and she releases a tense breath. Her hand travels across his chest before her fingers curl lightly around the swell of his shoulder. There’s a moment where she wonders if she’ll actually be able to fall asleep. Does someone lose the ability to sleep if they evade it long enough? She supposes she’ll be the first to find out.

“Sam-”

“I mean it, Leslie. If you so much as whimper, I’ll wake you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” she finishes her train of thought almost lifelessly before sighing heavily.

She closes her eyes for what feels like five minutes and reopens them to find that the room is considerably brighter. She’s still wedged between Sam and the back of the couch, her head still on his chest and his fingers still trail lazily over her back. Leslie sighs.

“How long was that?”

“A few hours,” Sam says and brushes the hair from her face. “You didn’t stir.”

It doesn’t seem real. On one hand, she’s relieved to not have had a nightmare this time around; but on the other hand, she’s terrified that this is a sign that she’s moving on - and she doesn’t _want_ to move on. She wants to remember every lustful glance and loving touch shared between her and her husband. She wants to commit the roughness of his skin to memory and file it away with all of the times his hard hands caressed her softly. She wants to keep every piece of him, no matter how big or small. She wants their past. She wants the future that was stolen from them.

“It’s getting longer each time,” Shepherd whispers.

“It’s getting harder each time. The dreams are so real. It’s like he’s actually here.”

“But?”

“But then I wake up.”

“And I’m here instead.”

“That’s not what I said.” Leslie slips the tips of her fingers between the gaps in Sam’s buttoned-up shirt until skin touches skin. “I didn’t say that, Sam.”

She doesn’t have to, though. He’s not so incognizant of her grief that he’d allow himself to forget just how much she misses her husband and how if someone could be willed back to life, then Ben would be here in a heartbeat. He’s a stand-in. A second-rate substitute for the real thing. But then Leslie slips one of her legs between his like she used to do not too long ago and he can’t help but hold her just a bit tighter in response.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she says softly.

“Why would I leave?”

“When your shift’s over. I don’t want you to leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because Flynn won’t care,” she huffs gently as if there’s anything remotely humorous about what she’s just said. It’s not funny nor is it true. “He wouldn’t do any of this for me. He’d probably just throw a bottle of Ambien at my head and leave me to cry about it all.”

Shepherd smiles, something apologetic and sympathetic before he closes his hand over the one that Leslie has on his chest. “You know that I can’t stay with you while Flynn’s here.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

“You know how he is with those kinds of things.”

“That’s never stopped us before.”

“Maybe Ambien Isn't such a bad idea, sweetheart.”

“No!” she cries, furious that her joke’s been weaponized against her. “I was kidding. I don’t want to be a slave to pills for the rest of my life.”

“Unless they’re naproxen?” he asks earnestly. “Ambien isn't meant to be used long-term. Les, I know that this is all very heavy. I’m just thinking that it might be a little easier to navigate if you can shut your brain off for a few hours - _consecutive_ hours.”

She whines and buries her face in the crook of his neck so that she doesn’t have to look at him. She can just barely detect the smell of his aftershave and she brushes her lips against the skin of his throat as if to express her permission to fill the prescription on her behalf.

“Flynn wouldn’t make me do anything that I don’t want to,” she sighs.

“Blame it on our broken agreement, sweetheart.”


	10. Chapter 10

AUGUST 2017

Leslie looks up from the rough draft of a document that she’s composing on her laptop when she hears a quiet knock on the door of her office. She fully expects it to be her personal assistant, Lauryn, coming in to drop off yet another memo about the pet project that she’s chosen to focus on during her tenure as First Lady - or, while not as likely, Charlotte stopping by with one of the kids for a mid-day visit. Instead, the visitor catches her off guard.

“I didn’t realize you’d be here,” Leslie says timidly.

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” Sam says with a sigh before handing her one of the disposable coffee cups that he’s carrying. “I have two weeks of leave that I’m taking starting tomorrow. I couldn’t get today off.”

Leslie takes the cup from him and allows it to warm her hands while choosing her words carefully. “It’s been weeks, Sam. Please don’t feel like you have to avoid me.”

Even if it isn’t how he intends it, it definitely feels like he’s trying to avoid her. She knows that their shift schedules are erratic at best - but she hasn’t seen him in two weeks and it’s about to be two more. So forgive her for feeling a bit guilty about the whole thing.

“I’m not,” he says gently. “I’m going home for my dad’s birthday.”

“But it’s an added benefit,” Leslie adds plainly, verbalizing what he’s surely thinking.

Shepherd shrugs as if it’s a possibility and takes a drink from the cup that he’s holding. His face twists the moment that the liquid enters his mouth and he shudders as he swallows before he forcibly switches the cup in Leslie’s hand with the one in his. She smiles at her agent’s misfortune as he tries to purge the taste of her sugary coffee from his mouth from what she expects is his usual herbal tea.

“God, that’s horrible,” he sputters and wipes his mouth against the back of his hand. “How can you drink that?”

“I like it,” she says defensively.

“That much is clear, ma’am. I’m not questioning whether you like it or not.”

Leslie smiles softly and tilts her head ever so slightly. “Sam.”

“What?”

“Please call me Leslie.”

He sighs and takes another sip of his tea. There’s a lull in the conversation; as if by not saying anything the awkwardness between them will suddenly cease to exist. “I don’t know how you can drink something that tastes that bad, Leslie.”

* * *

It’s beyond late when Ben finally stops working for the night and comes to bed. So late, in fact, that his wife is already fast asleep despite her irregular sleeping habits. Ben’s strenuous and unorthodox working hours are nothing new for either of them and this is far from the first time that Leslie’s been asleep for hours by the time he’s finally ready to retire for the night, but that doesn’t make Ben feel any less guilty when his slipping between the sheets causes his wife to stir from her slumber.

“What time is it?” Leslie whispers in the dark.

“It’s past my bedtime.”

Leslie props herself up on her elbows in an effort to read the analog clock on Ben’s nightstand but he quickly reangles the alarm clock so that she can’t see it once he realizes what she’s trying to do. She sighs because his obstinance can only mean one thing - he’d shut himself up in his office and tried to plow through a stack of paperwork. She shakes her head, her disapproval further amplified by his exhaustion.

“Ben.”

“Leslie.”

“Ben.”

“Leslie.”

She turns to the alarm clock that’s on her nightstand and whines when she sees the time. “Ben. It’s a quarter ‘til one.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs as he slides between the sheets and wraps his arms around her. If she could save him the lecture about the importance of a healthy sleep schedule, that’d be great. Ben buries his face in Leslie’s hair, breathes deeply, then groans. “I’m getting reamed from both sides about how appropriate NAFTA is in the twenty-first century and I’m absolutely fucked no matter which way I decide to go about it.”

Leslie smiles, small and sympathetic, and places a hand on his chest to ground him. He closes his eyes and his chest heaves with a deep sigh, clearly unable to shake the tension that had accumulated over the day. Leslie’s fingers work gently at the buttons of Ben’s shirt, undoing them one by one from the collar towards his pants. Her hand then slips to the leather of his belt and she manages to free it from the clasp before his eyes shoot open and his hands stop her.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks wearily.

“You can’t sleep in this,” she says gently before helping him out of his clothes. The articles fall to the floor with a soft thud and Ben lays his head back again, now bare except for his briefs.

“I don’t think I can sleep at all, Leslie.”

He alternates between trying to sleep and staring at the dark ceiling, between slowing his breathing and huffing forcefully, between his back and his side. Leslie’s presence, which is usually a comfort, is of no use to him. He’s not able to turn his brain off and disengage from his work. He prefers when problems have immediate solutions and hates leaving something unfinished, further adding to his impatience and restlessness that’s been building and building since inauguration day.

Leslie purses her lips and reaches over to her nightstand towards a glass bottle, depositing two pumps’ worth of lotion into her hand and then rubbing her palms together. Ben cranes his neck forward upon hearing the liquid being warmed between Leslie’s fingers, but she shushes him before he can ask what she’s doing or protest.

She wipes all of the product into one hand before she smoothes her hand over his chest, crawling into the space between his arm and his torso so that she can rest her head on his shoulder. Leslie closes her eyes and breathes in the cool scent of eucalyptus and tea as she rubs it into Ben’s skin, paying special attention to the tension in his traps and the tautness of his pecs. He sighs his approval and melts under her touch before resting his chin atop her head.

“Don’t work yourself to death, please,” Leslie says softly, more request than demand.

He nods, mumbles something incoherent, and drifts off into sleep.

* * *

There’s a brisk knock on the open door of the Oval Office as the men from Ben’s prior appointment are on their way out. Ben’s head whips up from the bill that he just finished signing and smiles when Leslie rounds the corner.

“Hey you,” Ben chirps and signs the date - the nineteenth of August two thousand seventeen - and sets the piece of legislation aside. “I didn’t realize you were coming by.”

“Surprise visit,” Leslie says as she crawls gently onto his lap before their lips meet in a quick kiss. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Leslie wraps her arms around her husband’s neck. “I woke up early this morning.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “And you would’ve known that if you were there.”

Ben nods his understanding and looks at Leslie apologetically. He isn’t exactly sure what constitutes ‘early’ for his wife, but he’d started his day at four-thirty in the morning as he usually did. Judging by her chastising expression, Leslie had expected his late night to result in him staying in bed for a while longer. He tries to stifle a yawn that threatens to expose how tired he is but is unsuccessful and Leslie’s face lights up in triumph.

“You need to rest,” Leslie says in an annoying, sing-songy voice. Ben waves his hand and dismisses her before wrapping his arms around her waist. “But I was awake so early that a funny little thing happened that I wasn’t aware is a recurring incident.”

“What’s that?” Ben asks lovingly.

“That my baby was stolen from her crib,” Leslie says with a laugh. “I figured I’d keep her company until she woke up by reading or working on my pet project. Give Charlotte the morning off, and all that.”

“How’s that going, by the way?” Ben asks in regards to the project that she’d chosen to work on as First Lady. After thinking heavily about what causes she felt most passionate towards, she’d ultimately decided on nature preservation and wildlife conservation because it felt like home to her. There was also the added benefit of getting to work closely with the National Parks System.

“Good,” she says dismissively before doubling down on her original point. “Turns out Charlotte has every morning off and that an empty crib isn’t concerning to any of the staff around here.”

“We’ll have to fire them all,” Ben says with a hint of amusement.

Leslie swats Ben’s chest with the back of her hand and he laughs harder before pulling her fingers to his mouth so he can apologetically kiss her knuckles. “How come I didn’t know about these daddy-daughter morning meetings?”

“They don’t happen all the time,” he says gently.

“Often enough.”

“Often enough,” he agrees. “I don’t have much time to spend with her otherwise, though.”

“The baby gets the whole morning with you and I get a meager ten minutes in between your meetings?” she pouts playfully as she brushes a stray hair from his forehead. “That hardly seems fair.”

Ben heaves with effort as he shifts Leslie’s weight further up his lap so that she’s now leaning fully into his chest, her knees curing over the arm of the chair. “Sasha gets the whole morning because she’s quiet. She sleeps in my arms while I drink my coffee and read my briefings.  _ You,  _ on the other hand, are a distraction. You have no sense of personal space, you like to talk, and you’re easy on the eyes. I’d get nothing done.”

He rests his forehead against hers and runs his hand on the outside of her thigh as if to illustrate his point. The brevity of their encounters in this office are entirely out of necessity at this point - not necessarily because of Ben’s professional responsibilities, but also because if he were to spend more than half an hour in his wife’s presence, it would be incredibly difficult to convince himself to return to work for the day.

“You drink your coffee while holding her?” Leslie asks gently but her voice is laced with an ounce of concern. “Ben, if you scald my baby’s perfect skin, so help me God, I will-”

He squeezes her elbow. “You’ll what?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she shrugs airily. “But you’ll feel terrible.”

He smiles. “I wait until it’s room temperature, just so we’re clear.”

Leslie curls her fingers around the lapel of Ben’s jacket and sighs. Maybe it’s the unsteady levels of postpartum hormones or perhaps just a bit of old-fashioned sentimentality, but her eyes well over just the same. She cups his jaw gingerly and tries to compose herself.

“I used to think that no one else in the world could ever have a father that was as great as my dad, and maybe that’s still partially true. But you have possibly the most demanding job in the world and yet I watch you fight to make time for those two kids so that you’re still present in their lives. That is a very noble thing, Ben.”

“It’s not noble, Leslie. It’s just what needs to be done. They didn’t ask for their father to be president.”

“Maybe not,” she concedes before she laughs. “But those two are set for life. They’ll get into whatever college they want all because of their daddy.”

“What a wonderful thing, nepotism is.”

There’s another knock on the door and a woman enters the office before scoffing at the sight of Ben and Leslie cuddled together at the Resolute desk. Two other men trail nervously behind her as she assumes a spot at one of the couches in the sitting area at the front of the office, her red high heels tapping impatiently against the floor as she pulls stacks of papers out from her bag. Leslie turns her attention away from Rosalyn, steadily growing apprehensive at the idea of leaving her husband’s side which Ben seems to recognize. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and walks Leslie to the door, leaving with a kiss goodbye and shutting the door on her own terms.

* * *

“I hate him,” Ben grumbles upon seeing Leslie in the hallway before dinnertime. He doesn’t mean to dump all of his work-related frustrations on Leslie, but she’s patient and comforting and possibly the only person in the city that will await him with open arms no matter what he does politically.

“Hate who?” she asks and reaches out to give his wrist a reassuring squeeze.

“Connally,” Ben practically spits. “He promised Rosalyn and her cronies on that damn bill that I’d approve it even though it goes against everything the administration campaigned on. I had no choice but to sign it and then-”

He shifts his weight grumpily as he considers whether or not he wants to disclose the next bit of information. Ben sighs and hikes his pants up higher along his waist before he tightens his belt by one hole.

Leslie frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he sighs.

He doesn’t think it wise to get into all of the reasons that he hates his vice president right before heading in for dinner with the children so he folds his arms across his chest. Mr. Daniel Connally was specifically selected for Ben’s administration by the Democratic National Committee despite a rather lackluster political career. The man had absolutely no name recognition prior to the vice presidential nomination but had a three-decades-long history of voting along party lines within the Senate that made him the obvious choice in the eyes of the Committee, much to Ben’s dismay. No amount of insisting that they didn’t get along was enough to convince the powers that be at the DNC to replace him with someone else (preferably from the list of colleagues that Ben had compiled), so they continued to dance around their mutual contempt for the sake of saving face.

Ben’s frustrated face turns grave and he tucks his white shirt further into his pants. He pushes his hands into his pockets and becomes rigid as he looks at her, trying to maintain his composure. “Leslie, I need to talk to you about something. After dinner, preferably.”

* * *

Ben isn’t sure how they got into this predicament. Dinner with the children became an evening of family bonding culminating in wrangling a rambunctious preschooler into bed after his bedtime. The baby’s evening was business as usual thanks to the strict routine that Leslie has her on, but Aiden had been relishing in the undivided, undistracted attention of his parents up until the very end.

He really had intended to talk to Leslie after everything had settled down. But the woman had nearly given him a concussion by slamming him against the door once he entered their bedroom and each stray touch of her hands fueled the dizziness until she had him underneath her and completely at her disposal.

So he figures now isn’t really a good time.

“Does that feel good?” Ben asks before he wipes the sweat from Leslie’s brow as she pants from her efforts. She giggles between her labored breathing and nods yes in response before she leans further into the stroking, upward trajectory of Ben’s hips and moans.

“Everything's dirtier in the dark,” Leslie croons and bites down on her lip. There hadn’t been time to turn on a light given her enthusiasm. She gently grips his shoulders and whines, “Talk to me, please.”

“You’d like that a lot, wouldn’t you?” he grins salaciously before giving her clit a one-time, off-handed flick with his finger that makes her clench around him in response. “‘Atta girl.”

Ben brushes his thumbs over the bony part of her hips as Leslie continues to ride him, her nails trailing from his shoulders down to his chest. Leslie takes a deep breath in before she purses her lips and lets the air out through a controlled exhale. His hands roam over her exposed skin, over her stomach and up to her breasts where they remain contentedly until Leslie begins to feel giddiness accumulating in the depths of her belly.

“Really, Ben, I mean it,” she says breathily as she intertwines their fingers. “I want to hear you.”

Ben gives their linked hands a gentle tug and causes Leslie to topple over so that they’re chest to chest. He situates her head so that this mouth is near her ear before he smooths the hair from her face and places her hand gently over his throat so that her fingers are situated on top of his larynx.

“God,” he drawls as their hips resume their activity, low and drawn out so Leslie can both hear and feel just how much he’s loving this current rendezvous. “Fuck, Leslie. You drive me crazy.”

He continues his groaning against her ear and Leslie bears down against the thrust of his cock as she concentrates. One more primitive moan from Ben vibrates the pads of her fingers and she feels her pelvic muscles lock up on their own accord, tightening and clenching with the arrival of her orgasm until she tumbles down from the high a few moments later. Ben’s thrusts grow more sporadic and uneven, their force increasing as he races to meet Leslie in the afterglow. She lifts her head in the midst of her post-orgasmic fog and closes her lips around Ben’s Adam’s apple, her gentle sucking just enough to push him over the edge.

Leslie gives his shoulder a pat and presses a kiss to Ben’s chin, her lips lingering until she shivers and crawls away from him.

“Hey… where are you going?” Ben asks, his mind too hazy to reach out in time to stop her from inching towards the edge of the bed.

“I’m cold!”

“Then get back here and let me hold you,” he counters.

“In a second!” Leslie dismisses him and reaches for the pile of clothing on the floor beside the bed. She can’t tell whose shirt is whose in the dark and she craves the warmth that her oversized and worn-in Hoosiers t-shirt will no doubt provide her.

“Leslieee,” Ben whines. “I want to snuggle with you.”

“I can’t see anything,” Leslie complains mostly to herself because her husband sure isn’t listening to her endeavors.

She picks up a shirt in her hands and tries her best to examine it in the dim light but still cannot determine whether it belongs to her or her husband. With a huff of annoyance, she reaches for the lamp on the nightstand and flicks it on, light instantly washing over the dark bedroom. Ben winces before he blinks away the flash of light and scooches closer to his wife, who clutches his white dress shirt in her hands.

Leslie blinks slowly as she stares at a mark at the bottom hem of the shirt as if her blinking will make the mark disappear.

“Leslie?”

She hears Ben call her name but he sounds a thousand yards away, underwater, even. Leslie balls the shirt up in her fist before she snatches her t-shirt up off the floor and pulls it over her head with haste. She turns away from Ben, shielding his eyes from her discovery so she can examine it closer.

A red semi-circle stains the fabric of the shirt - a deep rouge color that Leslie instantly recognizes as belonging to an overpriced makeup brand, beloved by one Speaker of the House.

“Leslie?” Ben asks again, even more distant and muffled than before. Leslie turns to face him, the stained fabric now on full display. His face falls and his jaw sets and Leslie watches the gears start turning, spinning a thousand miles a minute as he tries to come up with some sort of defense.

She waits. And waits. And waits. But he says nothing. He just stares at her hands.

She runs her tongue along the back of her teeth, trying to keep some sense of reality as her fury begins to take control of her senses. A silent nod expresses that there’s no need for him to say anything at this point and the shirt is flung hotly at the wall, causing a framed picture of the two of them to crash to the ground. The glass remains intact despite the impact but the corner of the frame now sports a crack where the wood had previously been joined.

In record time she pulls on a pair of sweatpants and shoves her hand into the front pocket of Ben’s discarded pants in search of the keys to the desk. She finds them and stands up, Ben now trying to grab the pants from the floor to no doubt follow after her. Leslie bunches the fabric up against her chest then throws the trousers in the back corner of the room to delay Ben’s pursuit.

She storms indignantly through the White House, down the stairs and past a set of Secret Service agents that look bored. She doesn’t stop to look at their faces because she doesn’t care who they are. It makes no difference to her, anyhow. The padding of her bare feet against the carpeted floor drives her onward until she stands before a massive door in the West Wing.

Leslie pushes past the door and stomps into the Oval Office, just barely making it around the back of the desk when Ben crashes into the room, huffing at the doorway in a state of mismatched clothing.

“Leslie,” he pants. “Leslie, wait, I can explain.”

She bites her lower lip and shoves the key into the lock on the drawer before flinging it open, pens and loose pieces of wrapped candy spilling over the sides. Leslie pulls an envelope from the drawer and reaches for the folded stack of papers within it. Ben folds his arms across his chest and watches from the doorframe. She unfolds the papers and stares at three columns, each containing an overwhelming amount of numbers and letters that make no sense to her until she glances at the bottom of the page.

“Leslie.”

She swallows thickly before reading aloud from the bottom of the paper. “The alleged father is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Based on testing results obtained from analyses of the DNA loci listed, the probability of paternity is over ninety-nine percent.”

Leslie stares at the paper in her hands before she sets it down and smooths it out against the glossy wood of the desk. She sniffs - a momentary display of vulnerability - and Ben closes in on her, trying to get to her so he can hold her still and attempt to talk to her. He’s at a disadvantage, though, because when he tries to approach Leslie from the near side of the desk, she retreats to the far side, then returns to the back side when he tries to meet her halfway. They continue this grotesque dance of theirs until Ben takes a seat on the top of the desk and swings his feet around to the other side. Leslie nearly manages to escape in time, but he’s caught her hand and won’t let go despite her trying to pry herself free.

“Leslie,” he pleads.

“Let go of me!” She pushes against his chest and digs her heels into the floor as she leans away from him.

Ben drops her arm and she stumbles backward before catching herself and lowering her body into the empty chair. Leslie looks at his disheveled hair and state of undress as he leans against the Resolute Desk, visions of him and Rosalyn in this very office running rampant in her head.

“I can explain,” he says softly.

“No one’s stopping you,” Leslie croaks and waits for his reply. When he doesn’t say anything, she says thickly, “That’s what I thought.”

“Leslie, I-”

“You ordered a paternity test for Sasha, for your own daughter. Who does that?”

“Leslie-”

“My word wasn’t good enough?”

Ben falls silent. He grips the edge of the desk until his knuckles turn white. Leslie turns to him with tears in her eyes.

“You said her being here was just business. You said she means nothing to you.”

“Leslie-”

She stands from the chair and wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t want to look at you right now.”


End file.
